


West of the Moon

by KnifeEdge



Series: West of the Moon, East of the Sun [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Mythical Beings & Creatures, No Dawn, No Glory, Norse Mythology - Freeform, POV First Person, Scandinavian mythology - Freeform, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifeEdge/pseuds/KnifeEdge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night Buffy Summers goes to sleep and wakes up in a big bed, in a dark room, with a vampire in it that she cannot see, and who does not speak. Is she dreaming or is it real? Meanwhile, life as the Slayer goes on as Buffy juggles college life, friends, her boyfriend, vampires, demons, family -- and a new prophecy that could change everything. </p><p>Set in an alternate Season 5 with no Glory, and no Dawn. Deviates partially from canon just after the Season 4 finale. Deviates entirely from canon post-"Intervention." Epic length fic.</p><p>Warnings: Contains temporary (and canon) relationships: Riley/Buffy and Spike/Harmony. Also contains a canon character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blind and the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may recognize this story from several years ago. It's complete and currently archived on Fanfiction.net, Elysian Fields, and Bloodshedverse, as well as my live journal. I've held off on posting it here because I wanted to clean it up a little bit more and make some edits. I'll be posting chapters here as edits are complete. If you want to know what happens next (and don't care about edits), you can always go read the archived versions elsewhere. 
> 
> But if you want the suspense everyone else experienced the first time I posted it, follow it here. 
> 
> Since this story has three distinct parts (and they're very long), I'm planning to post it here as a series.

Ever since I became the Slayer, dreaming has been kind of chancy. Sometimes you get the nice, normal dreams where you're in charge of the penguin exhibit at the zoo, or having to give a report to the class naked, or occasionally both at once. Sometimes they're just weird mishmashes of your day; like walking down a hallway, or a conversation with people you've known forever — or feel like you have, anyway. 

Slayer dreams are different. Heavy. There's this weight to them that makes me remember every moment of them after I wake up. They feel incredibly real, too, which can be wigsome.

This year they've been intense. A few months ago there was the extra creepy one that gave us a heads up on the Gentlemen. Then there were some minor ones, mostly dealing with the Initiative, and that one almost-apocalypse when I had to go spelunking in the Hellmouth. The worst was the last one … though I'm not really sure if that was a Slayer dream or not, since Giles, Willow, and Xander were all there in it, too. Sort of. 

Can non-Slayers have Slayer dreams? 

There's probably an answer somewhere in one of Giles’ musty old books. That's what Watchers do, right? Dig up moldy, ancient books that no one can understand, full of answers that refuse to make with the sense? I guess those books have come through for me enough times that I shouldn't discount them — even if sometimes they should come with a warning label for bad side effects.

Like dreams that want to kill you, for instance. Or crazy cave-lady Slayers that are in dire need of an extreme makeover. 'Cause the whole "Escapee from _The Mummy"_ ensemble? So last millennium.

Anyway, right now I'm just glad it's over. It's one thing to have to fight evil while I'm awake, but you'd think I'd at least get a rest in my dreams.

No such luck, though. 

Last night I went to bed, looking forward to a relatively relaxing five or six hours of beauty sleep, after the shared nightmares from the evening before. 

Instead, I woke up somewhere … else.  

It was dark, absolutely pitch black. Not even starlight or streetlight trickled in through the blinds. I couldn’t even tell if there _were_ blinds, or windows for that matter. It was a bedroom, and the only reason I knew that was because I was sitting on the bed. It was big, plush, bouncy, and covered in satin sheets and a thick heavy comforter—nothing like my bed at home or the one in the dorm at school. I was fairly certain I'd never encountered a bed like this in my life and had no clue who it could belong to, or why I was in it.  

But since it was a dream, I figured I'd go with it.  

Something was making me uneasy, though. I hated not being able to see. 

Figuring it was better to have some idea of my surroundings than be a sitting Slayer, I got up and put a hand on the edge of the mattress. I kept my other hand out, trying to feel for anything around me that I might bump into. Carefully, I walked around the edge of the bed. When I finally made it all the way around I'd come to two conclusions. First, that the bed was HUGE. It could easily have slept five people with no one ever having to hang off the end or even make with the cuddlies. Second, whoever had put the bed in this room was definitely a non–traditionalist; it didn't touch any walls, and there weren't any within arm's reach. 

The wiggy, uneasy feeling was still there, only now I was definitely starting to get prickles of fear. 

This didn't feel like a normal dream. Or even like a Slayer dream. For one thing, I was much too lucid. I was thinking and planning, something that doesn't normally happen when I'm asleep. I could smell the fabric softener on my pajamas (which were, as far as I could tell by touch, the ones I'd gone to sleep in that night). The satin sheets were cool and slick beneath my fingers. The entire room was cool, actually, like the AC was overcompensating for sweltering temperatures outside. The floor beneath my feet felt like stone, and I could hear the soft echoes of each step as I took it. In my Slayer dreams, I don't usually get so many details. 

And I'm usually not blind.

That sort of defeats the whole purpose of Slayer dreams, actually. They're supposed to help me to _see._ But in this one I was blinder than a … well, a really, really blind thing.

I debated for a while whether or not to try to locate a wall by walking away at a right angle to the mattress, then gave it up as pointless. It was obvious that the bed was the important part of this particular dream, and the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped again, leaving me shivering. I crawled back in and pulled the sheets and blankets around me.

Maybe this was some in-between dreaming stage, and I'd fall all the way asleep in a minute, I thought. Maybe if I just closed my eyes …

Of course, no sooner had I decided to try to sleep than the tingles started, like cold fingers tickling up the back of my neck.

Even though I don't usually pay much attention to it, I knew that feeling well. 

There was a vampire in the room.

There was a vampire in the room, and it was coming closer. 

I held very still, trying to get a lock on it. I had no weapons, no stakes or crosses or anything to keep it at bay. The four posts on the bed were way too big to be of any use, and besides, they'd been iron anyway. 

The vampire was coming closer, but it seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the bed. Did I mention that the bed was huge? I hoped it tried to come over the bed rather than around it. Strangling it in the sheets wouldn't do any good, but maybe I could pounce on it and tie it up before it could attack. Then maybe I'd get some answers. 

As quietly as I could, I drew myself into a crouch on top of the mattress, clutching the satin sheets in my fists.  

I waited. 

And the longer I waited the longer the vampire waited, coming no closer. I could sense it, at the opposite side of the bed, could almost feel its eyes on me. I wondered if it could see me in the dark, and not for the first time wished that preternatural vision had come with the Buffy Summers Slayer Package. Would have been nice. 

The silence got to me first. 

"Are you going to attack or what?" I asked, frustrated. "It's really late and I've got a ton of stuff to do tomorrow. Could we just get on with it so I can go back to sleep?"

No response. Weird. Normally there's something. Most vamps can't resist at least hissing a tried but true "Ssssslayer" or an empty threat. But this one said nothing, which was completely wigging me out. 

Finally, it moved. I felt the mattress dip as it climbed aboard at the far end of the bed—as far from me as inhumanly possible. There was the soft whisper as the sheets were disturbed. Faintly, I felt them being tugged up and into place. After that, everything was still. 

"You're … going to sleep?" I asked, incredulous. Vampires do _not_ just crawl into bed next to Slayers — or even just regular humans for that matter — and go to sleep. I don't think they're physically capable of it. Something about the whole lack-of-soul thing makes them immediately think, _grr–arrg, human, kill_. Or, if they're bored, they might add some rape and torture to the to-do list. It's probably the vampire equivalent of brushing your teeth before bed or having a glass of milk. _Napping_ next to a human without trying to kill them first? Maybe I'd wandered into the Twilight Zone.

"You're just …  going to sleep? This is a weird dream." 

There was nothing but silence from my undead bedmate. I knew from experience that sleeping vampires slept … well … like the dead. No breathing. No pulse. No snoring. Might as well share a bed with a corpse, which, if you wanted to get technical about it, yeah …  

More silence. The mattress shifted, as if the vampire had rolled over onto its side, and gave a tiny, barely audible sigh. Not that that was a weird sound for a vamp, though. Newly risen vamps breathe the most, usually because they don't have time in the fifteen seconds it takes between rising and getting staked to figure out that they didn't need to. But even Angel breathed sometimes. Well … I guess they need to in order to talk. But this vampire wasn't talky. It just did that sigh noise again, which somehow made me think that the vamp was male, and that he was annoyed. 

After that, things got quiet for a really long time.

After what seemed like forever, I let myself relax just a hair. If it was planning on killing me with suspense, it was working. I sat down, but couldn't bring myself to lie down. Not with a vampire in the room, even if it did seem like this one had no plans to kill me at the moment. Maybe it was weak? Maybe this was how it fed, by luring human girls home and to bed — only I was pretty sure that I hadn't gone anywhere after I'd gotten home from patrol, and that my last memory was climbing into my old bed after wishing my mother good night. 

So maybe not so much with the luring and the feeding. 

Then I remembered that this was a dream, and sometimes dreams include all sorts of bizzaro things. It wouldn't be the first time I'd dreamed of a vampire that didn't want to kill me. Not even the second. Or the third. Of course, those dreams were usually about the same vampire, and I hadn't actually had one of them in months. 

I really was tired, too.

It took a long time for me to fall asleep, but I finally did, even with my hyper awareness of the vampire lying still as death only a few yards away. 

When I woke up, it was morning, and I was back in my own bed, still tense from the dream stress. Shaking it off, I scribbled down the details in my dream journal, just in case it turned out to be important. 

You never really know, when you're the Slayer.

 


	2. Summer, Nights, Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae

"I keep having the strangest dream," I tell Willow a few days later while we're sitting outside the Espresso Pump, waiting for her girlfriend. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to think about Tara without thinking of her as Willow's Girlfriend. I'm still adjusting, I guess.

It's a gorgeous day: all blue sky and warmness. A slight breeze ruffles Willow's short red hair and cools the back of my neck. With the sun all shiny and bright it's hard to think about the things that go bump in the night here in Sunnydale. Maybe that's why it's so easy for the people in this town to ignore the weirdness that lives (unlives?) right under their noses.

Sometimes I wish I had that luxury. Unfortunately, the bumpy things tend to follow me no matter where I go; when I'm asleep I dream about them, when I'm awake I think about them.

Still, it's a beautiful day and we're going to the mall later. It's the perfect time to _not_  dwell in Slayer-land. And yet …  

I don't know why I'm bringing the dream up now, but I should probably talk to someone about it, and the smartest someone I know is Willow. She of the _I–helped–save–the–world–a–few–weeks–ago–and–still–got–A's–on–all–my–finals_ might be able to help me figure this out.

"Oh?" she asks, looking up from her cup of coffee with interest. Her eyes do that thing where they get all big and curious. "There … there weren't any cheese guys in it? Or … you know … crazy old Slayers out for revenge?" 

I laugh. "No. Not like that. It's … um … it's like I fall asleep and then wake up somewhere else, in a different bed. And the room is really, really dark—can't see your hand in front of your face dark. And kind of cold. Then I start feeling the tinglies, and I _know_  that there's a vampire in the room. I feel it get closer, and then it crawls onto the bed with me … only the bed is way huge so it's too far away to touch. Then it goes to sleep. And eventually I do, too. It's been the same dream, sort of, every night for the last few days."

"That's … a little creepy," Willow says, pulling a face. "Does it say anything?"

"No. Sometimes it sighs, though. Oh! And sometimes it takes it longer to get in the bed; usually if I'm wigged out or threatening it." Which, yeah, I've done pretty much every night. Not that the vampire has done anything threatening or anything, but the suspense gets to me.

"Huh," she says, frowning in thought. 

After a minute I voice the last bit of information, the revelation I had that morning after waking up. "The thing is … the _weird_ thing is … it … feels familiar." 

"The dream?"

"No … the vampire. Like it's a vampire I should _know._ It's sort of muffled-y, though."

"Maybe it's Angel?" she says looking a little hopeful.

Which should make me happy, only for some reason it doesn't. I don't know if that's because my last few encounters with Angel have been of the less than stellar or if it's because if it _is_  Angel then why doesn't he say anything? Or try to touch me or reassure me? What’s my subconscious trying to say if I can’t even be with him in my dreams?

"I don't know … Wouldn't I know, if it was?"

"Well … it's not like you have a lot of repeat experience with too many vamps," she says. "I guess it could be Spike."

We both make a face then. Really don't like that idea. "No," I say finally. "If it were dream-Spike, he'd try to kill me. Even with the chip. Or he'd say something. There's no way Spike could ever be that quiet. I’m not that lucky."

"Harmony?" Willow suggests, fingering the scar on her neck where the vapid vamp got in a bite last year.

"No, I kinda get a male vibe off of it, and Harmony makes Spike look like a mime. She's even worse about not shutting up. Also …  ewwww.”

"That rules out Drusilla, too, I guess."

"Also with the ewwww and add a side of wiggy. Spike might like to sleep with crazy vamp-hos but I doubt I'd be dreaming about something like that." One Drusilla related Slayer dream was quite enough, thanks. I can't think of a single reason why I would ever want to spend more time with the Queen of the Demented than I already have. 

We rack our brains—and what's with that phrase anyway? 'Rack your brain' Why would putting your brain on a rack help with the thinking?—but can't come up with any other vampires that are still around that I'd recognize on re–acquaintance. 

"Maybe it's one I've already dusted," I suggest finally. "You know … haunting me?" 

That seems too far-fetched for either of us to believe.

"Maybe," Willow says. "Or maybe it's just dream weirdness."

Maybes seem to be all we can come up with, so eventually we drop it. It's just a dream, after all. In the bright light of the sunny day outside it hardly seems that important. Then Willow perks up at the sight of Tara coming down the sidewalk, and my freaky dreams are all but forgotten. 

Shopping, after all, is way more important.  Summer is here, and that means warmer nights, new slaying outfits and new Bronzing outfits, a studly mom–approved boyfriend to dress up for, no studying and fewer demons for a few months. Something about the heat makes the demon population too lethargic for world-ending plans or something. 

Summer is always worth looking forward to.

***

By July the dreams have become almost as routine as patrol. I don't bother threatening or talking to the vampire anymore since he never says anything; we just share a tense moment, then go to sleep. 

Riley went back to Iowa to visit his family at the end of June. I hadn't thought about his family much before, but he talks about them like they're really close. Still, it was sort of sweet how reluctant he was to leave. I had to promise him like fifty times that I'd be careful on patrol, and if any Big Bads pop up that I'd call him immediately. He didn't seem to get that June through August are dead here in Sunnydale. Figuratively speaking, of course. And even if they weren't? I've totally got it covered.

With him gone I get to be fifth–wheel Buffy on Bronze nights again, but at least I don't have to sit out some of the faster songs. I love Riley, but on the dance floor he's a total doof. It's kinda cute the way he flails around.  

In a way, it's sort of a relief having him gone. Not that I want him gone, but it's pretty wigsome to be falling asleep in Riley's arms one minute only to find myself waking up alone in the big dream bed the next. 

For some reason, I haven't told Riley about the dreams. If I did, I think he'd be more concerned about them than I am. 

I haven't told Giles yet, either. Or brought it up with Willow again. Mostly for the same reason. They're just dreams. And it's not like I'm getting the _Heads up! Evil on the way!_  vibe off of them.

By the end of July, the vampire and I just barely acknowledge each other's presence. It's a blip before regular dreaming kicks in, and mostly I ignore it. 

Mostly.

***

Summer passes like a dream. Long hot days spent shopping or at the beach with the gang. Nights at the Bronze. Warm cemetery patrols. The shorter nights mean fewer vamps are active, and the demons are slow and far between. The army came in a few weeks back and cleared out the Initiative and helped clean up some of the straggling demons that had escaped. 

Most of them, anyway.

I run into Spike now and then. He's been renovating a crypt over in Restfield and I catch him sometimes hauling rubble out and dumping it in open graves or over near the woods. We usually trade barbs and threats, then head our separate ways. Every now and then he hits me up for cash in exchange for often pointless information.

Mostly he sticks to being lurky and avoidy, which is fine with me. I think he's probably still worried about what happened back in May, when he tried his little Yoko Ono crap on me and my friends. I just let him worry. It's sort of fun watching Spike tiptoe around on eggshells, which is pretty much impossible for him. Big ugly boots aside, it's usually his mouth that ends up tripping him up; kinda appropriate, considering that he's a vampire.

I could confront him about the whole Adam thing, I suppose, but really? We should have expected him to play double–agent from the beginning. He's evil, so of course he's going to, you know, BE evil. Him being all helpful guy should have been the first clue that he was up to no good. 

Xander keeps asking why I haven't dusted him yet.

He's harmless, I usually reply without thinking about it too much. As long as we're on our guard with him, there's no real danger there. Besides it's too hot to think about staking Spike. So not worth the effort. 

I come home from patrolling every night tired and still sticky with sweat, the dust of another vamp or two clinging to my skin. It's getting close to August, and I feel like I'm counting down the last few days of freedom. Riley will be home at the beginning of the month, and then we'll all be gearing up for the fall semester before you know it. And inevitably some new Big Bad will rear its ugly head and then I'll probably have to spend the next nine months getting ready to save the world. 

Again. 

***

"How are things with Riley?" Willow asks me a couple of weeks before the semester starts. It's late and I'm walking her home before patrolling. We'd spent most of the day at the mall, looking at stuff for our new dorm rooms. 

"Good!" I say. Because they are. The things, I mean, with Riley. Really. I hadn't known before how good it could be to have a normal boyfriend. Especially one I don't have to hide my Slayer side from. Willow gives me a look that makes me feel like a bug under a microscope. "It's nice, having him back. We're going driving this weekend."

"Driving?" Now Willow looks alarmed.

"I know. I've warned him: cars and Buffy are non–mixy. But he's got it in his head that I just haven't had a good experience or something. It's kind of cute, if tragically misguided."

"Promise me you won't get behind the wheel unless you're nowhere near civilization. Or trees … or … big rocks … or …" she trails off, probably thinking about all the very breakable things in this world. I know _I_  keep thinking about them. 

"Promise," I tell her. "Besides, it's not like he can force me."

"Who's forcing you?" Spike says, stepping from behind a tree with a leer plastered across his face. "Would think any bloke stupid enough to _force_  the Slayer would have been staked already." 

"Nobody's forcing anybody," I say, rolling my eyes. Ugh, could he be any more of a pig? "But if you're volunteering for stake–age, step right on up." Spike just sticks his hands in the pockets of his ugly leather duster and leans one shoulder against the tree beside him. 

"Now, now, Slayer. Harmless, remember?" The way he's lurking just this side of the shadows, his eyes predatory and gleaming in the streetlight makes him look anything but harmless. My vampire tinglies don't seem to care about his chip, either. They always wig in his presence, although I'd never tell him that. 

"What do you want, Spike?" Not that I care.

"To be standing over your broken and bleedin' corpse, of course," he says, tonguing his teeth in a way that is _really_  obscene. "But I'd settle for some dosh. Runnin' low on blood and I doubt you'd feature me nicking some from the hospital."

"Ewww," says Willow and I can't help but agree.

"You have information for me, you get money. No info, no dough," I remind him. 

"Quid pro quo, Clarice?" he smirks.

"Huh?"

"Hey, that was kinda rhyme–y," Willow says, grinning a little. 

Spike shoots her a weird look. On a human I might say it was embarrassment. On Spike it's closer to murderous irritation. "Look," I tell him. "You know the deal. Now, do you have something, or do I need to threaten you to get you to leave?"

He growls, which always sends an odd little shiver down my spine. It's a weird reminder that his human face isn't his real one—which I sometimes forget. Another thing on my Never Tell Spike List. 

"Guess I'm off to the hospital then," he says, starting to melt back into the shadows. "Be seeing you, Slayer. Hope your conscience lets you sleep tonight. You can comfort it by remindin' it that you make evil work for a living and all that do–gooder rot. Meantime, I'm cravin' some AB positive."

"That's blackmail, Spike," I say, trying not to growl myself. Where exactly does _he_  get off questioning _my_  morals?

"Yeah, well, _evil,_ pet. So you buying me a drink or what?" 

I fish a ten out of my pocket and toss it at his feet, not willing to take the chance that he really will head for the hospital. He scowls down at it. "Cheap bitch." 

"You wanted money, you got it, Spike. That's enough to get you through till Friday. Gives you time to find me some useful information." His eyes flash yellow, but he scoops the money up faster than I can follow. It disappears into the pocket of his duster.

"Thanks a heap, Slayer," he says without gratitude. "You're a peach." Then he's gone.

"Well," says Willow. "That went … well."

Because so many things with Spike so often do. 

I stay out a little later that night than usual, and come home only when I've done every graveyard, plus the hospital. I dust twelve vamps that night, but none of them have bleached blond hair and an irritating smirk. 

*** 

Maybe it was Spike's words about my conscience, or maybe it was the semi–lame driving date with Riley that weekend, but as August rolls into September it starts to be harder to sleep at night. I crawl into bed and lay there for a while, staring at the wall or the ceiling. Some nights I get back up and head for the graveyard, working off my insomnia by staking another vamp or three.

It's not that patrolling with Riley isn't fun, although he's usually kind of military about it. It's just … there's something about being out at night, when everything is quiet, slipping through the shadows, hunting vamps. I don't know how to put it into words. It satisfies the Slayer in me, somehow. I find myself drawing out the fights, toying with them, sometimes, just to make it last longer. 

Eventually tired, I go back to bed and drift off only to wake back up in that cold room with the huge bed and strangely silent vampire who shares it with me.

My sleeplessness translates there, too. The Slayer part of me is intensely _aware_  of my invisible dream vamp, and from the moment I find myself there to the moment I finally manage to fall asleep, I feel like I'm fine tuning that awareness, somehow. 

I wait rigidly until the vamp approaches the bed. Despite his silence (I long ago decided that it had to be a _he_ , even though I have absolutely no proof) I imagine that I can read his mood through some combination of the movements I can hear, how long it takes him to crawl onto the bed, and the tingles that are still somewhat muffled in this dream world. Some nights I can tell he's staring at me hungrily. His movements are quieter then, more predatory, and he slides into the bed like silk. There's a weird intensity in the room on those nights that leaves it difficult as hell for me to sleep. Other nights he seems irritated or annoyed. He sighs or makes a soft little _hmmmph_  sound and flops carelessly onto the mattress.

Sometimes, however, I get the feeling he's curious. Studying me in the darkness. He sits on the edge of the mattress for the longest time, and when he lays down, I always feel like he's facing me, watching me until I fall asleep. 

None of this does wonders for my beauty rest. Riley, thankfully, never seems to notice my extracurricular patrols, and if my weird dreams make me toss and turn at all he never comments on that either. In a way I'm glad. I don't want to have to try to explain all of this. Really not so great at being explainy–girl and I'm not sure how I'd tell him, or Giles, about any of it without them having a massive freak out or thinking there was something wrong with me.

There's nothing wrong with me, except normal Slayer weirdness—which isn't exactly something that I can change, is it? So I hunt vamps at night, and then dream about them; neither of those things is really that unusual.

Things might have gone on like this forever, except, as _is_ usual, something happens. 

A vampire, of course. Because my life? It’s all about vampires storming in and shaking things up.

Only this time it's different. 

It's not everyday that a Slayer gets to stake Dracula.

 


	3. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimer: this chapter contains some dialogue adapted from the episodes "Buffy vs. Dracula" written by Marti Noxon and "Real Me" written by David Fury

 

_All those years fighting us. Your power so near to our own..._

_Find it. The darkness. Find your true nature..._

_You think you know ... what you are ... what's to come. You haven't even begun..._

That night sleep does not come easily. Not when I get into my bed. Not even when I finally find myself awake in my Dream Bed. For the first time, however, I find the vampire waiting.

"It'd be really nice if I could go one night without any vampires," I grumble. He's sitting up on his side of the bed, I think. Hard to tell when you can't see anything, but there's something about the give of the mattress and the way the tingles are prickling the back of my neck that says _sitting up_. I go with it.

I'm feeling restless. More so than usual. I desperately want to talk to someone about my encounter earlier that night and I can't think of who. Except... there's this vampire here. This faceless, dream vampire who never says a word. It's not really real. It's just a dream. So... I talk.

"I staked Dracula tonight," I say. "Three or four times. Didn't take, of course, and he's long gone by now... You ever meet Dracula?" 

No answer. I hadn't really expected one.

There's not even the slightest shift to the mattress to indicate a head nod or anything. I shrug. 

"He's really annoying. Full of himself. I thought he was kind of pretty, at first, for a vampire. No bumpies for Dracula. He probably thinks they'd ruin his image. I wonder if vampires get plastic surgery?" 

The vampire shifts a little then, and lets out a soft sound that might be a choked back laugh.

I do laugh, then lean back against the headboard. "Well it _is_  California. They'll plastic up anybody. He looks like vampire Barbie." There's a definite _silent chuckle_ feeling from my roommate. "So I guess you're not him, then." The vampire goes still again. Very still. Even my tinglies are alarmed. Not quite sure what I'd just done I try to explain. "Well, I figure if you _were_  Dracula, you wouldn't be laughing at yourself. He doesn't strike me as the self-deprecating type." 

A few heartbeats later he relaxes. How weird is it that I'm starting to be able to read dream mattress? 

"The thing is... he said some stuff to me... tonight. I... you know I'm the Slayer, right?"

There is a barely perceptible motion from his side of the bed. I take it as admission. If he hadn't, I figured he'd be lunging or scrambling away from me as quickly as possible. That he doesn't do either confirms that feeling I'd had months ago. Somehow, in some way, I _know_  this vampire. Or at least he knows of me. 

"Right. So, he said that ... my power comes from darkness. And... it kind of wigged me, you know? Well, maybe you don't cause you're all about the darkness but... I'm not supposed to be. I'm supposed to be the good guy, the white hat. I didn't believe him. But then he made me drink some of his blood-"

The vampire falls off the bed. 

There's a distinct movement, and then a thud and a quickly choked back noise that  probably had almost been a curse but came out more as a cough. 

"Are you okay?" I ask, not really thinking. Then I catch myself. Right. Vampire. I'm supposed to be slaying him, but I can't so instead I'm worrying about him cracking his skull from falling off the bed. The really _huge_  bed. He must have been right at the edge. Stupid vampire. 

After a long pause I hear him climb to his feet, then deliberately settle himself back on the bed, this time a little closer to me and further from the edge. I wait. He waits. Finally he makes a weird sort of motion that feels like a hand gesture. Which I can't see of course. 

"I can't see you, you know that, right?"

He taps once on the bed. "Is that a yes?" 

He taps again. "You're a very weird vampire, and this is a very weird dream." I don't get a response to that. 

"I guess you were a little surprised about me drinking Dracula's blood?" One tap, and it's a little emphatic. "It's not like I had a choice!" Only that's not really true and I suspect he knows it.

"Stupid thrall," I mutter, even though I knew if I'd fought it just a little bit harder I could have broken it. The truth was... the truth was he'd offered to show me something about myself and I always have had a hard time passing that up.

There's a curious sort of silence from my vampire.

"Okay, so it was a dumb move. And it didn't really show me much of anything. Just... me fighting. And that crazy rasta-mama first slayer chick that tried to kill me in my dreams once... and blood, only all in close up, which... ewwww." I pause. "Probably not from your perspective, I guess." He shifts as if restless or disturbed.

"It's just... there's so much about being the Slayer that I don't understand. You'd think that I would. I've been doing this for five years now. But I don't really know anything about... where my powers come from or even the extent of them. Which I should. I totally should. I know I'm not all book-girl but... maybe I should, like, look it up... If for no other reason than to keep from having to drink icky vamp blood in order to figure it out."

It hits me, then. I should talk to Giles. We haven't really done the training thing in a long time and I miss that. Somewhere in the last year or so I've become ... attached, to being the Slayer. Used to be that all I wanted was to be normal-girl but... that Crucifixion test that the Council put me through kind of changed all that. Then, working with the Initiative last year made it even more obvious. I _am_  the Slayer. It's my Calling or whatever. It's part of me, and it's a part of me that I kinda almost like. 

Tomorrow, I'm going to talk to Giles about resuming my training. I need to understand all this better.

No more vamp blood for Buffy.

I flop back against the pillow and stare at the darkness that is the ceiling. Sleep, true sleep, steals over me. Just as I start to drift off, however, I feel the mattress shift beneath me and a cold finger gently touches the healing puncture wounds on my throat. The vampire growls softly. Startled, my eyes fly open, but he's already moved away, back to his side of the bed. He settles in, and stills. 

I lay awake for a long time after that, with the ghost of his touch still hovering over my skin.

 ***

Giles, needless to say, is thrilled when I tell him I want to learn more about being a Slayer.

His face kind of looks like a Christmas tree when it lights up like that. 

 ***

The downside to this, of course, is that Riley is feeling neglected. I can't really help it, and it's not like we still don't see each other all the time. It's just more... patrolling-type dates than date-type dates, or nights at the Bronze, which he never really minded before.

"Plans?" I ask one morning when he drops by unexpectedly. "We planned plans?"

"Well, you said, uh, 'come over tomorrow and we'll hang,' and then I said, 'OK.' Not the invasion of Normandy, but still a plan," he looks a little disappointed.

Crap. I completely forgot. Color me guilty-Buffy. I nod. "Right," I say, when I can't think of anything else that doesn't start with an apology.

"We're... not hanging today, are we?" he says with a wry sort of expression.

I explain about Giles picking me up so we can go shopping for more Slayer training supplies. He takes it pretty well, considering.

"Are you mad at me?" my voice sounds small. He's my boyfriend and I'm neglecting him. True, I'm neglecting him for my sacred birthright but it's still neglect, right? I already feel bad about that whole Dracula-thrall thing and not telling him about getting bitten. He was really upset about that, and I get why. I do. But that's also why I have to do the training thing, so stuff like that doesn't happen again.

"Oh, no, not at all," he says. "I'm plotting your death, but in a happy way." His grin is sweet and reassuring, which only makes me feel guiltier.

Sometimes it's nice having an understanding boyfriend. Sometimes I don't get why it doesn't make me happier. I mean this is what I've wanted, right? A nice, normal guy who'll be my rock, who I don't have to hide parts of me from. He's sweet, attentive, and handsome; just a patriotic, healthy, normal American Boy.

I remind myself of these things as we kiss and he leaves so I can get ready.

I wonder why I have to remind myself.

***

The day goes from uneasy to disastrous faster than you can say _vampires_.

First there's Giles' car, which-yeah, pretty-but c'mon, compensating much? And there's a place I never want to go again.

Then Willow freaks out when I tell her I'm dropping drama.

After which we find a dead body in the Magic Shop.

Again.

"Judging by the bite-fest I'd say it was more than one vampire." Poor guy looks like he'd been used as a chew toy.

Giles reaches over and closes the corpse's eyes. I've gotten way too blase about dead bodies over the years. This one barely wigs me. "I'd make it four, at least," Giles says, studying the wounds, equally cold blooded. Tara was the only one who had to go outside for fresh air, maybe because she knew the guy.

"Looks like someone's put together a new fang club," I say. My mind flashes to Spike. Just because he's chipped doesn't mean he couldn't get other vamps to work for him. We like to forget sometimes that he's technically a master vamp, and that being evil for over a century has probably taught him more than a few tricks. Still, this doesn't really have his signature on it-especially when we start looking at what was taken.

Willow's reading off the list she cross checked with the inventory, looking for missing items.

"Mostly books," she says. "Including _A Treatise on the Mythology and Methodology of the Vampire Slayer._ "

Not good.

I'd wanted to read that one.

Giles tells me to take things more seriously. And he's right, I suppose. If there are vampires out there who are reading up on me, that's definitely a reason to be concerned. But there's something about this that is failing to register on my Slayer radar as Serious Threat.

The missing unicorn statue pretty much seals that coffin.

***

It's bleach night at Xander's house; it's not hard to convince him and Anya to hang at mine, just in case any vamps decide to swing by. My mom's going to be out late tonight and I want to be sure she arrives home safe. Riley and I take patrol.

When we get back I've got a broken window, and Xander and Anya are laughing hysterically.

"Harmony?" I giggle as they fill me in on the details. "Harmony has minions?"

I can't help but laugh. I mean, honestly, Harmony? Shallow, vapid Harmony who couldn't even get a date if it weren't for the fact that she clung to Cordelia like a leech? Being a vampire hasn't really improved her any. If she had a soul before she was turned, it being gone hasn't made much of a difference in her. Same old Harmony: a little paler, a little fangier, and still a complete bimbo.

I should have guessed it was her from the missing unicorn. It's impossible to take Harmony seriously as a threat. First of all, as a vampire she's a joke, even more so than Spike. At least he's actually evil, even if he can't, you know, _be_ evil right now because of the chip. Harmony's about as evil as she is smart; in other words, not very. I can't even bring myself to stake her most of the time, she's such a waste. Whoever decided to vamp her must have been desperate. She's not even that pretty. Kind of horsey.

Still, she's throwing rocks through my window, so I guess when I'm done laughing I should go out and kick her ass on principle. Can't have other vamps thinking that it's okay to mess with my house. Mom's going to freak enough as it is.

Xander goes to assess the damage. All these years cleaning up demon messes have made him a pretty decent construction guy. I'm glad he's finally got a job where he feels useful and gets to use his skills.

Of course, that's when we find out that just because Harmony is useless, it doesn't mean her minions are. They manage to knock out Anya, but she falls backwards into the kitchen where she's safe. Xander isn't so lucky, and they snatch him before I can get downstairs and outside.

Guess he's going to need to reaffirm his non-butt-monkey status.

While Riley calls the ambulance for Anya I head out.

Time to go visit Spike. If anyone knows where to find Harmony, he does.

***

"Ow! Bloody hell!" he yells when my fist connects with his nose.

I hate his face. I mean, really, really hate it. Doesn't matter how much damage I do to it, it always heals and then I'm stuck staring at it again. I wish he wore his demon more often, like other vamps. It would make my life _so_  much easier.

Sometimes I think about the first time I saw him, in the alley outside the Bronze. Melting out of the shadows like a... melty thing. Those blue eyes mocking me, that smug little grin on his lips, the white blond hair and impossible cheekbones making him look...

Angelic.

More than Angel ever did.

Even Dracula's overdone good looks seem cheap compared to Spike's face.

There's something really wrong with the world when something so evil can have a face like that. Evil should be ugly. Twisted. Bad should not look beautiful.

Which is why I take so much pleasure in breaking his face as often as possible.

"I don't have time for banter, Spike. Where's Harmony's lair?" I demand, pressing him up against a stone column.

"Haven't seen her in months," he lies, because that's what Spike does. He's not even good at it. "How should I know-OW!" I punch him again.

"Where is she?"

"At least lay off the nose," he complains.

Unlikely. Breaking his nose is hugely satisfying. I pull back my fist, ready to let it fly. "Okay, okay. Used to have a cave in the north woods. About forty meters past the overpass construction site."

I hit him again.

"Ow! I was telling you the truth!" he bellows as I turn to go.

"I know," I say.

Maybe his nose will swell up ‘til he looks like Owen Wilson. There's a happy thought.

***

The cave is right where he said it would be, and Harmony and her minions are arguing over whether or not they should eat Xander now or wait till later.

By the time I'm done dusting the minions-really not much of a challenge-Harmony has escaped and Xander is slumped in his chains.

"Getting a little tired of playing the damsel," he says as I cut him down. "Do you think, maybe, next time Riley can wear the dress? This is not doing good things for my manhood."

We spend some time looking for Harmony, but she's vanished. Then we go to the hospital. Anya's awake and aware, if in a lot of pain.

I let Xander play the hero to make up for him having to be the hostage.

Next time I see Harmony, she's totally dust.

***

I tell the story to my vampire that night, as he climbs into bed.

He's doing the predatory thing again, but I ignore it. I'm still too cheesed off at Harmony, and besides, he hasn't tried to touch me since that once.

"I could barely stand her when she was alive," I tell him. "And someone liked her enough to make her live forever? Ugh. If I ever find her sire I'm going to lock him in a room with her for a month or two before dusting them both. Serve him right."

The vampire is silent and still, but I'm still wound up. I get out of the bed and start pacing along its length, using the tinglies as a landmark in the dark so I can find the bed again.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me.

"I wonder if it's Spike?"

No response of course. Not like he'd know anyway.

"I mean, we don't know when she was vamped. He could have done it just before that whole fiasco with the Gem of Amara..."

Except...

"Oh, wait. No. She said she was going to Paris for the summer, after graduation, but couldn't after she was turned. I remember Willow mentioning it. And... Spike didn't come back till after the fall semester started."

I drop to the mattress, disappointed.

"Crap. I was kind of looking forward to locking them up together. He'd probably kill her and that'd be one less vamp I'd need to dust. Besides, they dated or something. That had to be torture. For both of them."

Suddenly I've got the giggles again, remembering Harmony and her minions.

"God, she's such a pathetic Big Bad. She's clearly trying to out Spike Spike. What with the hair, and the black leather outfits. She's not even the Big Bad. She's like... the Kinda Bad, only she's really bad at it. Like an evil Scrappy-Doo. You should have seen her with all her minions about to mutiny. I wonder how she convinced them to be her minions? It's not like she's the alpha female or whatever."

I think of the guys she had trailing after her. None of them were really top-choice, prime-sirloin material. Probably were just desperate to get laid.

The vampire hasn't said anything or moved at all. I can tell he's listening, but he seems preoccupied tonight. I wonder if he knows Harmony. Doubtful. If he did he'd have done that silent laugh thing he does sometimes.

As I crawl back into bed I remember that this is just a weird dream thing and my vampire more than likely is just a figment of my subconscious or something.

Of course, if he were, wouldn't you think he'd talk back? Or at least laugh about Harmony? Why is it even my subconscious vampires are uncooperative?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely reviewer last night pointed out that I'd started to post this story here and neglected to finish. So... I am going to attempt to do that a little at a time. It's a long story, and it's actually complete on several other sites, but I'd like to have it posted here as well. If you're impatient, the complete story is published at both Fanfiction.net and Elysian Fields Spuffy archive. Otherwise, I will continue to post chapters as I remember to do so and have the time.


	4. Divide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimer: this chapter contains some dialogue adapted from the episode "The Replacement" written by Jane Espenson.

 

Things go back to normal. Or as normal as things can ever be on the Hellmouth.

Harmony is a no show, and the vamp population is relatively quiet. With any luck she's decided to go to Paris, where she can be officially no longer my problem.

Giles purchased the magic shop. I guess he was really impressed after looking over the books there. Says that the high death rate keeps the rent down, and maybe with us occupying the place it'll keep the death rate down. I think it'll be good for him. You know, give him something to do now that he's no longer Mr. Librarian Guy.

And, hey, bonus: the back room is big enough we might be able to turn it into a training area. Clean it up a bit, put in some equipment... I'm kinda excited. I haven't had a real place to train in a long time. Ever, really. High school libraries and gymnasiums don't exactly count. Plus, since it's a magic shop we'll be able to keep all kinds of books there for research, and supplies will be on hand if we need magic for anything. It's kind of perfect, actually.

We spend part of a Saturday helping Giles move boxes over to the shop. Which sounds like more fun than it is, especially since with my super Slayer strength I get stuck doing most of the heavy lifting. Who would have thought boxes full of books would be so heavy? By the time we're done with the books I feel like I've gone a few rounds with a pack of Fyral demons. Then we start on the supplies.

When we're finished, Riley and I go over to Xander's place for a much needed pizza and movie night. I even do some studying while I'm there. I can be totally studious when I want to be, even though it makes my friends look at me like I'm a pod person when I get caught up in my history text book.

Xander, I think, is getting fed up with living at home. I don't blame him. His parents are horrible, and the place smells like cat pee and dirty socks, no matter how often he does the laundry. We spend half the movie trying to ignore the fighting going on upstairs and when I get back to the dorm I have to shower all the ceiling plaster out of my hair. It looked like I'd been snowed on.

It's no surprise at all when Xander calls the next morning to ask if we'll go with him and Anya to check out an apartment that he found advertised in the paper. It's a great location, and the building is gorgeous. It's not huge, but it's a good size for Xander and Anya. Not to mention, it's got a great bedroom.

Not, you know, that Riley and I had really _intended_ to try it out.

Not that we really got to anyway.

Xander doesn't seem all that confident about getting the place, though, and Anya's whining doesn't really help much. You know, for someone who is over a thousand years old you'd think she'd develop a little patience or something. So then we have to try to ignore _them_ fighting. Xander fills out the application and we all promise to cross our fingers for him. He deserves a place of his own.

One that does't smell like cat pee.

Funny, I didn't even know he had a cat.

***

We stop by the magic shop on our way back through town. Giles is sitting at the counter with a plastic bag full of ice against the back of his head.

"What happened?" I ask. It kind of looks like there was a fight. There's stuff scattered on the floor, and some of the furniture is smashed up.

"A demon," he says. He fills us in on the sitch: creepy looking demon, blah blah blah, looking for the Slayer, blah blah blah, stinky robes and weird stick, blah blah blah. Finally he demonstrates how he fought it off using some big, ugly statue.

"That's Oofdar, Goddess of Childbirth. She's got some nice heft to her," Willow says. She's not wrong. That statue looks like it could take out a small army. I'm pretty impressed Giles could even lift it.

"How badly did you hurt him?" I ask. Giles stammers and looks embarassed.

"Well, hurt... uh, maybe not... hurt," he says, not really meeting anyone's eyes.

"Well, I'm sure he was... startled," Willow says, loyally.

"Uh, yes, yes I'd imagine it gave him, uh, rather a turn," Giles says. He's so transparent sometimes I'm surprised birds don't fly into him.

"He ran away, huh?" I ask, trying hard not to grin. I love him, but man, Giles is such a book guy. Hard to believe he was ever seriously called Ripper. He tries to look dignified-which actually works since he's British and sort of tweedy to start with.

"Um, sort of more... uh... turned and swept out majestically, I suppose. He said I didn't concern him."

"So, a mythic triumph over a completely indifferent foe?" I sum up, smiling.

"Well, I'm not dead or unconcious, so I say bravo for me," Giles says, looking a little insulted.

Willow finds a book full of demons and hands it to Giles so he can start looking for his majestic enemy.

"So you bought the magic shop and you were attacked before it opened," Xander says dryly. "Anyone for a rousing chorus of the 'We Told You So' symphony?" Giles just shoots him a pained look.

Riley picks up Oofdar and swings her experimentally. Riley's shoulders look really good when he does that. There is just something about a guy with great muscles swinging weapons...or, you know, fat statues.

"Owning this place does seem kinda dangerous," Riley points out. No kidding. I can't really count how many times this place has changed hands, or how many times we've found dead bodies here. Something about it just seems to attact the bad guys. It's almost more Hellmouthy than the Hellmouth. Like a mini-mouth.

"Toth," Giles says.

"What?" Riley asks.

"He called you a toth,"I tell him. "It's a British expression. It means, like, moron." I think. Most weird British words seem to mean moron.

"No, Toth is the name of the demon," Giles says. He warns Xander not to play with his crystal balls...and ew.

He puts the book down to show us the picture, which, thankfully is creepy enough to wipe out my previous mental image of Xander and Giles' crystal balls. "Ancient demon, very strong, last member of the Tothric clan. It also says that for a demon he's unusually sophisticated," Giles paraphrases for those of us who don't speak Really Old Book.

"Sophisticated," I say. "So I should discuss men's fashions with him before I chop his head off?"

Giles sighs. "They're referring to the fact that he does not fight bare-handed. He uses tools, devices," he explains. "Oh, he's also supposed to be very focused, and since he mentioned the Slayer, I think we know what the focus is."

Great. Riley's suddenly got his dander up and is ready to charge to my rescue. It's sweet, if completely unnecessary. I don't point that out to him, though. I'm more than capable of taking care of one fancy dressed demon on my own. Hunting him down might be a problem.

"...I have an idea, though," Giles says, coming out of book mode. "He had a very specific olfactory presence."

"Well, I guess we're off to the ol'factory. I hate that place," Xander says, trying to be punny. We all just groan. "I'm just joking. I know what it means. He smelled, right?"

Willow suggests that the demon might be using sandalwood, but Giles has someplace a lot smellier in mind than a perfumery.

***

Which is why, a few hours later, we're all taking a lovely stroll through the city dump-where smells go to relax and be themselves. I don't usually patrol out here, thank god. Most demons seem to avoid it. Probably for the same reason vampires hate garlic: too stinky when you've got a nose sharper than most bloodhounds.

Of course, there's always one exception to the rule. I've watched him eat Indian food before, so it's no surprise that if garlic doesn't bother Spike, neither will the stench of the junk yard. When his white head pops up out of a mound of garbage it's hardly a shock. Guess trash knows where it belongs.

"What are _you_ doing here, Spike," Riley says. His fingers look a little twitchy on his crossbow.

"Oh, there's a nice lady vampire who set up a charming tea room over the next pile of crap," he says. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm scavenging, ain't I?" He holds up a lamp in one hand and a shade in the other.

"Very pretty," Willow tells him. He just shrugs and puts the shade in a nearby shopping cart that's full of junk. I guess it's technically not stealing, and I'm pretty sure that Spike can't exactly shop at Goodwill. The name alone probably wards off vampires.

"Spike, we're ... um, we're looking for a demon. Ah... tall, robed, skin sort of hanging off, deep voice?" Giles says.

Spike looks thoughtful. Probably a strain for him. "You mean a great, tall, robe-y thing like that one?" He points behind us. We spin.

And there he is. Giles neglected to mention the glowy teeth. Ew. I guess hanging out in the dump means that dental hygiene is low on the priority list. He's got some kind of stick thingie and he points it straight at me. "Take cover!" Riley yells, and we all dive out of the way just as he fires a bolt from the stick thingie.

"Big guy! Kick her ass!" Spike yells, cheering from the sidelines. Stupid vampire. I try not to grin when Toth's next bolt shatters Spike's new old lamp. "Oh, very nice. I was on your side!" He throws out the lamp. I wonder if it counts as littering if you're already in the junk yard? Spike glares back at me, smirking, and for a moment all I want is to punch him in his stupid, smug face.

"Watch out!" Xander yells, pushing me out of the way just as Toth looses another bolt of light. It hits Xander right in the chest, throwing him several feet back into a garbage pile. We all rush to his aid, and by the time we haul him out of the junk, Toth has disappeared.

I have a feeling things aren't over.

Xander seems okay, if a bit sore, so we help him home. Spike passes us as we leave the junk yard. He's got his feet on the base of the shopping cart and he rides it past us, down the hill, with a wicked grin on his face and his black coat flying behind him like bat wings.

***

My dream vamp is doing his grumpy routine tonight. He slinks in after I'm in bed, then stands at the side without getting in. I can feel him watching me. I half want to talk to him about Toth, but I'm getting twitchy vibes off him, so instead I pretend to sleep. After awhile he climbs in bed, then flops back against the pillows on his side. I feel the bed jiggle, but don't say anything. How weird is it that my imaginary vampire has _moods?_

***

"I just don't like the idea of this guy out there, hunting you down," Riley says the next morning, as I'm going through my weapons chest at Mom's house.

"There are _always_ demons out there trying to hunt me down. His sticky thing didn't do much damage to Xander," I point out. "And he's pretty damageable. I think I can take him."

The phone rings, but when I answer it, whoever's on the other line hangs up. Probably a wrong number.

I pick up one of my favorite axes and heft it, liking the feel. I really don't get to axe too many bad guys. "Well, if this guy wants to fight with weapons, I've got it covered from A to Z. From axe to...," I can't think of a weapon that starts with z. Crap. "...zee other axe."

Riley doesn't even laugh at my bad joke.

I put the axe in my stylish weapons bag and then focus on him. He's got that line between his eyebrows that always makes me think a little of Angel and his pondering face. I know it's not a fair comparison, but there it is. Riley's face isn't as classically handsome as Angel's. It's... squarer and...serious but not as broody. Sweet. Normal. Can someone be normally handsome?

"Relax," I tell him. "Another day, another demon."

"Right," he says. "It'll be good."

"Hey," I say softly, and kiss him. I like kissing Riley. So maybe it doesn't give me the same vampire tinglies as Angel, or the magic induced fireworks I got kissing Spike that time when Willow screwed up a spell ( _only_ a spell could make kissing Spike anything other than repulsive)... but it's still damn good. Riley's lips are warm, and I don't have to worry about him getting fangy afterwards. All of Riley's bumpies are thankfully below the belt. He slides his hands up my sides and pulls me into him.

Things might have gone further if Mom hadn't come out of her room right about then.

Guess next time we ought to close the door.

***

To make Riley feel better I let him take me to lunch, then we stop at a couple of the local demon bars to see if anyone's heard anything about our new demon pal and his magic stick. No luck, but I get to threaten Willy, so it's not a total waste. I have one class in the afternoon, so Riley drops me off and agrees to pick me up after.

And hey, I don't think I did too bad on my Crusades test. It's sort of surprising how much I like reading about all these old dates and times. Sometimes I feel like I've been there, thanks to some of the Slayer dreams I had when I was first Called. I'm pretty sure there were a couple of Slayers, at least, who were around for the Crusades. I'd like to think that maybe they joined some holy fighting order, maybe disguised as boys, like the Knights Templar. I wrote my essay on the Templars, though I probably should have left out some of the details about how they were accused of secretly worshipping the demon Baphomet. At least I managed to refrain from pointing out that it's a _real_ demon.

***

It's pouring rain by the time class is over, a real actual thunderstorm. We don't get many of those here in Sunnydale, but the weather's been a little cool for autumn. Maybe it's an El Nino thing. Riley picks me up and we stop by Giles' to see what the glowy demon sitch is. Nothing new on the demon front, but Giles is hunting through his books, reshelving them, and muttering to himself about poltergeists.

We're barely there for fifteen minutes before Xander comes in the door, looking oddly spiffy for Xander. Maybe he and Anya have a date later. "I thought I locked that," Giles says.

"You never used to lock it before," I point out.

"Yes, well that was pre-Spike," he says. "Not that locks stop him. Do you think he might be sneaking in at night and shuffling my books about just to toy with me?"

"Spike?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I know Spike is hard up for evil since he's been chipped, but reshelving books just to mess with Giles is sort of a stretch. Giles sighs.

"You're right, I suppose. Far more likely that he'd just steal my Scotch. In any case, one can never be too careful in Sunnydale."

"Guys, forget Spike. I need help," Xander says, pacing. "I just got attacked by my evil twin."

"You have a twin?" Riley says, leaning back against the dining room table. "I didn't know that."

"No," Xander says, frowning. "I mean, I got attacked by something that looked exactly like me, only stinkier. It ambushed me outside of my new apartment."

"You got the apartment? That's great!" I say, grinning. I know how badly he'd wanted it. Maybe that's why he's dressed all Mr. Serious. I bet he's going to take Anya out to celebrate their new cat pee-free apartment.

"Can we focus on the evil me part?" Xander says, looking exasperated. I do my best to look sheepish.

"Are you certain it was a... a doppelganger?" Giles asks. "It's rather dark, with the rain. Perhaps he merely bore a passing resemblance."

"No, no. He looked _exactly_ like me," Xander insists. "It stole my face. We have to find it, and we have to kill it." He looks really upset. I don't blame him. The last time we had to deal with an evil twin it was a vampire version of Willow running amok. I try to imagine a vamp Xander-and shudder. Xander tends to be ruled by his stomach. A vamp Xander would probably be even worse.

"Don't worry, Xander," I tell him. "Whatever stole your face, it has to deal with the Slayer now."

"How like you was it?" Giles wants to know.

Xander sits, then stands again and paces. "Very. It even was wearing the clothes I had on yesterday. Just... you know, dirtier and stinkier. Like me crossed with Pigpen. It talked like me, walked like me..."

"Okay, Patty Duke, have a seat," I tell him. "We'll figure this one out. Did it say what it wanted?"

"Not really," he says, sitting and looking frustrated. "Mostly it babbled. Also like me, might I add. Then it attacked."

"So maybe it's a doppler-banger, like Giles said. What do they usually want?" I ask Giles.

"Doppelganger. They're largely fictional," he says, looking thoughtful. "Though many people have reported seeing them, usually before some tragic event. They tend to be harbingers rather than sentient creatures. What's intriguing me is that there are any number of demons with the ability to mimic a simple form, but, uh... this sounds like more than that."

Something about that twigs my Slayer senses. Demons... Mimic...

"Hold up," Xander says, standing again. "Do we really have to figure out what it is? Let's just go kill it."

"Yeah," Riley agrees. "When the imposter's killed, the body'll probably turn back into whatever it really is, and then we'll know."

"Toth!" I say, putting it together. The testosterone brigade all turn to stare at me. "The demon with the creepy stick thing," I explain. It just happened _yesterday._ God, boys can be dumb.

"Toth...," Xander says thoughtfully.

"It's gotta be! He hit Xander with that blast, and somehow it allowed him to take Xander's form. Couldn't that be what the creepy stick thing did?" I ask.

"Yes," Giles says, taking off his glasses for a polish. "I suppose, yes, yes, it makes sense. A shape-shifting device." He wanders back to the bookcases. Toth _did_ disappear right after the blast hit Xander, so it makes sense. Even Xander agrees that it's the most likely explanation.

"I was gonna go look for Toth anyway. Guess now I start... looking for you," I say as I grab my sweater. Outside it's still pouring. Ugh. So not looking forward to treking through Sunnydale in the cold rain looking for another Xander, but it's gotta be done. It's different when it's someone you care about being threatened. Neither rain nor snow nor sleet will prevent this Slayer from... er... slaying.

Xander's concerned about this dopple-thingie going after Anya, so he heads over to meet up with her. Hopefully that'll keep me from accidentally running into him and thinking _he's_ the demon. That would be bad.

"We need a plan," Riley says after Xander leaves. "Giles, do you have maps of the area? Places where the demon might go? If we can narrow it down, we can figure out a search and sweep pattern."

Sometimes there are benefits to a boyfriend with a military brain. My ideas are usually just... you know... wander around until I find the thing I need to kill. Or it finds me. Usually it finds me. Giles digs out a map of Sunnydale for Riley to pour over. I glance at it curiously.

"Wow, you can really see how much real estate is occupied by dead people from above, huh?" I say. Riley gives me a curious look. "Lot of cemeteries in Sunnydale." I count them out. Twelve, if you include Mission out at the edge of town. Not to mention the number of churches, police stations, fire departments and the size of the hospital. I wonder if you looked at maps of Sunnydale over the last decade or so if you'd see these things growing like tumors.

Consequences of living over a Hellmouth, I guess.

"So where would evil Xander go?" Riley asks.

"I don't know. Um, the Bronze, his house, the comic book store, the video store, his job site...," I say, thinking. "Or maybe he'd go where Toth needs to go. Evil demony places, to do whatever evil demony things he needs to do. The hellmouth, maybe, or the cemeteries. Maybe the hospital if he's looking for people to eat or something?"

"So you're thinking we split up?" he asks.

"Yeah, you check the places where he might try to go and blend in as Xander, and I'll check the places where Toth might hang out."

Riley doesn't look pleased. What's the big?

The door bangs open. "I swear, this time I _know_ I had that locked," Giles complains as Willow comes in looking totally panicked.

"Buffy, Toth looks like Xander," she tells me.

"We already know," Riley says. "We're on our way."

I frown. "Wait a second, how did you know about this?" Xander hasn't been gone very long, and why wouldn't he have told her that he'd already talked to us?

Willow claims that the real Xander came to her for help, and that the Xander we talked to was just a demon in a Xander shaped suit.

"What makes you so sure yours is the right one?" I ask, even though my brain is already replaying the scene from a few minutes ago and coming up with some wiggy conclusions. He was all with the serious clothes... and even though he claimed he'd been attacked he wasn't even bruised, and Xander tends to bruise like a peach.

"He knew stuff! He... he did the Snoopy dance. Buffy it was Xander and he needs us," she says. Crap. Why didn't we ask our Xander to do the Snoopy dance? I've always wanted to see it.

"Oh, dear lord," Giles mutters behind us. So he's not the Snoopy dance appreciating type.

"Buffy," Riley says, with his thinking face on. "Our Xander... did he seem a little..."

"He seemed kind of forceful and confident," I say, and now that I've said it-it seems even weirder.

"That's not Xander," Willow says.

"I said, 'oh, dear lord,'" Giles says. He's still got his nose stuck in some moldy book.

"You always say that," I point out.

"Well, it's always important," he says. He puts his book down. "Neither Xander is a demon."

"Um," says Willow, "Is one of them a robot?"

"What?" Giles says, looking surprised she'd even jump to that conclusion. Clearly he's forgotten Ted. "No. Um, uh, the rod device. It's called a ferula-gemina. It splits one person in half, distilling their personality traits into two seperate bodies. As near as I can tell, Toth was attempting to split the Slayer into two different entities."

"Two Buffys?" I say. That'd be weird.

"Yes, one with all the qualities inherent in Buffy Summers, and the other with everything that belongs to the Slayer alone. The, uh, the-strength, the, uh, speed, the heritage. And when it hit Xander, I think it seperated him into his strongest and his... uh, weakest."

"But which is the real one," Riley asks.

"They're both real," Giles explains. "They're both Xander. Neither one of them is evil. There's nothing in either of them that our Xander doesn't already possess."

Riley frowns. "I still don't get the original plan. I mean, why do it? The Slayer half would be like Slayer concentrate, pretty unkillable."

"But the two halves can't exist without each other. Kill the weaker Buffy half, and the Slayer half dies," Giles says. Uh oh... not good.

"So the same goes for the Xanders?" I ask. "We lose one, we lose them both?"

Giles nods.

Crap. We need to find Xander before he finds himself.

***

I can't help but think about what Giles said, about the two possible Buffys. Sometimes I try to remember what it was like, before I was the Slayer. It gets a little harder every year. That girl was so different from what I am now. Shallow, deliberately vapid, entirely focused on boys and parties and clothes. But... she was also the kind of girl boys really fell in love with. The kind that needed a boyfriend like she needed to breathe. Maybe that's not such a good thing, but... sometimes when I'm with Riley I can't help but think that what he really wants is a normal girl.

"Riley, do you wish-"

"No," he interrupts. We're speeding through the streets of Sunnydale in Riley's version of a penismobile. Men and their cars... The rain streaks the windshield, making patterns on his face like dark tears.

"No? You don't even know what I was gonna say," I protest.

"Yes, I do," he tells me. "You wanted to know if I wished you got hit by the ferula-gemina. Got split in two."

I sulk a little. "Well, you have been kind of rankly about the whole Slayer gig," I remind him. "Instead of having Slayer Buffy you could have Buffy Buffy."

He grins. "Hey, I _have_ Buffy Buffy. Being the Slayer's part of who you are. You keep thinking I don't get that..."

"It's just... I know how... un-fun it can be. The bad hours, frequent bruising, cranky monsters..."

"Buffy," Riley says, "if you led a perfectly normal life, you wouldn't be half as crazy as you are. I gotta have that. I gotta have it all. I'm talking toes, elbows, the whole bad-ice-skating movie obsession, everything. There's no part of you I'm not in love with." He grins at me.

I want to believe him. I really do. But I can't help but think about the expression on his face this morning when we were talking about the demon. I feel like... like he's far away from me, sometimes. Or, or like he's watching me and wishing... wishing I were something else.

Being the Slayer has changed me in so many ways, but... it's like Giles said about Xander, even if you separated out the Buffy half from the Slayer half... I'm not sure either would be able to survive on it's own. The Buffy part of me... is just a silly blonde girl with no other ambition in life other than to be pretty and have a perfect boyfriend. The Slayer part of me is strong, but hard, cold. A machine. Together, the two parts kinda balance each other out, I guess.

But it still makes it hard for me to be normal. I'm not sure I like that Riley thinks of me as crazy. Wouldn't it be better if he thought of me as... I don't know, sweet? Beautiful? Strong? Intelligent? And don't think I didn't notice he didn't mention anything Slayery when he was listing the parts of me he wants to have.

"We better get there soon," I say, instead. "If Xander kills himself, he's dead... You know what I mean."

***

We make it to Xander's apartment just in time to keep him from shooting himself. Or... I mean, his other self. And why the hell does Anya own a gun? Doesn't she know guns are bad?

It takes a little while, and a lot of confusion, before Riley and I manage to explain to Xander that he's both... himself. The Xanders need some convincing, of course. Although once we sort out the whole Xander-One-wasn't-brain-melting-people-with-a-flattened-nickle-thing, it gets a little easier.

At least until Toth shows up with his creepy stick thing and tries to kill me again. Riley and I both attack, but he tosses Riley off like a bug. I beat on him for awhile before he body slams me like a wrestling pro. Jeez, where do these guys learn to fight? The WWF?

I kick him hard in the chin, landing him flat on his back, and Riley manages to toss me a sword.

Then it's over, way too quick, and we're all left staring down at Glowy Face's slowly dimming teeth.

"Oh, yeah, that cleaning deposit's gone," says Xander One.

"I was thinking the same thing!" says Xander Two. "Do you suppose we're both Xander?"

***

We all head back to the Magic Box, where Giles and Willow have been busy looking up how to smush our two Xanders back together again. In the end it proves to be pretty easy. Almost... anti-climatic. At least, once we get past Anya's sudden urge to be the meat in the middle of a Xander sandwich... and, ew... there's a mental picture I never, ever, ever want to have again.

 


	5. Out of My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimer: this chapter contains some dialogue adapted from the episode "Out of My Mind" written by Rebecca Rand Kirshner.

Sometimes I feel like Xander is the most grown up of any of us (Giles aside, 'cause he's actually a real grown up, obviously). I mean, Willow and I are still in college, but Xander went off and got a job—well, multiple jobs, but now he has a steady one that he likes and is good at. And now he's got an apartment while the rest of us live in dorms. It's a subtle sort of reminder that we're not in high school anymore.

Grown up Xander is pretty cool.

Still not quite sure what to make of Anya. Or Tara. I want to like them. I really do. But Anya tends to rub her ex-demon days in our faces more often than we're all really comfortable with. We all _know_ she used to be a demon, but do we really need the graphic reminders of all the different things you can do to torture a man's man-parts?

And Tara... she's so quiet it's hard to know exactly what's going on with her, but at least she doesn't talk about orgasms all the time.

Thank god my boyfriend is normal and everyone likes him.

Although, Riley seems a little distant lately, though that might just be because training is taking up so much of my time. And he's been really enthusiastic when it comes to the whole demon fighting thing. He's been handling himself well, though, so we've been splitting up patrols. I don't really like it, and I worry about him getting hurt, but he seems happier than he has been. Whenever I'm ready to patrol he's usually already waiting impatiently by the door with a few stakes in his pockets, ready to rock. And by the time we get back he's still pumped and ready to go, too.

I used to worry about my stamina, but Riley seems more than capable of keeping up... I mean, keeping up with me... er... keeping pace? Obviously there's not a problem with the whole up thing.

And watch me change the subject before I start sounding like Anya.

***

Okay, what I said about Riley and his enthusiasm? _So_ getting on my nerves right now.

I'm clearly capable of handling one measly vamp by myself, but here he comes, charging in to the rescue. Not only that, but he flips the vampire up against a crypt as if it were nothing, then stakes it. No quips, no battle, no... nothing. I know he thinks he's doing me a favor but... that was _my_ vamp and now I'm all... twitchy. My Slayer instincts have been ready for a fight all night and now...

Grr.

He claims that he thought I was in the north sector. I'm not even sure where the "north sector" is supposed to be!

Of course then Spike barrels in after another vamp and the night really goes to hell.

Hello, _I'm_ the Slayer. One girl in all the world, remember? I _so_ do not need my over-compensating-for-something boyfriend and a neutered, wanna-be-big-bad vampire doing my job!

When the dust clears I turn to confront Spike. He's dabbing at his bloody nose. He's lucky he didn't get himself accidentally staked. I can't threaten Riley, but Captain Peroxide is fair game. "Better keep out of my way, Spike. I'm not gonna take this much longer." Riley comes up beside me.

Spike sneers. "And I should do what in my spare time? Sit at home knitting cunning sweater sets?"

Now there's a mental image. "Would it keep you out of my way?" He just smirks and licks the blood off his fingers.

Ew.

"She's right," Riley says. "You shouldn't be out here when she's patrolling."

Suddenly I'm not sure which of them I want to stake. Seriously? He jumps into _my_ fight, and now he thinks he needs to threaten _Spike_ for me? I could make a career out of threatening Spike!

Men! Ugh!

As always, Spike manages to see straight through me. "Oh! I saw that. Looks like neither boy's entirely welcome. You should take him home, Slayer," he snarks. "Make him stay there. I've got knitting needles he can borrow."

"Spike ... I just saw you taste your own nose blood. You know what? I'm too grossed out to hear anything you have to say. Go home." I turn on my heel and leave, Riley trailing behind.

Behind us, Spike yells, "It's blood! It's what I do!"

Really doesn't make it less revolting.

Riley slings his arm around me as we head toward the exit. I'm tired all of a sudden, even though I barely had to do any slaying tonight. Somehow I drum up a smile for him. I know he's just trying to help, which makes it hard to admit that mostly he's just getting in the way.

He must be reading my thoughts. "Hey," he says. "Hope I didn't get in the way."

_Yes, you did._

"Of course not. I-I was just ... startled," is what I say instead. "And, you know I don't love the idea of you patrolling alone." I worry when he's out slaying. He's only human. Admittedly he's in really good shape and he's got lots of experience bagging vamps, but he's used to working with a team for backup. And better weapons than a pointy stick.

"Not much for bench-warming," he says, not very apologetic. I guess he doesn't need to be. He did handle himself against that vamp pretty well.

"No, you made the squad. You ... threw that vampire like he was a ... teeny-weeny little vampire," I say. Cause he did. And... isn't that kind of weird? I know he's working out but... really? He's still not as strong as I am, hell, he's not even as strong as Spike, but that was definitely more than just normal Riley strength back there. Then again, people have been known to lift buses when pumped on adrenaline, so maybe that's it. There's nothing quite like chasing vampires through graveyards to get things pumping. Adrenaline things, not ... other things. 

He just grins. "Hey, wanna go again? Come on, I bet this place is just teeming with aerodynamic vampires." I arch an eyebrow and look around. The graveyard seems pretty dead, actually, except for Spike back there, and that's not something I want to deal with right now.

"Nah," I say, then have a thought, "Unless you wanna go back and kill Spike for the fun of it?"

I half expect Riley to say yes, but instead we both sort of shrug and decide against it. He can't fight back, and I kind of have a problem with staking something that's not an active threat.

He ever gets that chip out, though, then all bets are off.

When we get home it's late, but we make love anyway. Twice. And it's good. Better than usual. Enough to take the edge off that I've been feeling all night. I'm not even irritated by the time I drift off to sleep and wake up in the dream room.

***

The vampire is late. He slips quietly into the bed, and I feel him immediately roll onto his side, yanking the blankets up around him.

With a shrug I roll over and do the same.

Then I realize I'm naked.

I figured out a while back that whatever I'm wearing when I fall asleep comes with me into the dream. Normally I try to at least pull on a long t-shirt before I let myself fall asleep, but I must have forgotten tonight. Still, the vampire is way over on the other side of the huge bed and he's only tried to touch me once. I try to be sneaky and tuck the blankets closer around me, then do my best to relax. It's not like he can see me anyway.

Just before I start to fall asleep I hear something. Was that a sniff?

Did he just sniff the air?

And growl?

I lay awake a lot longer after that.

 ***

School hard.

At least, that's all that my Cave Buffy brain feels capable of thinking after today's history test. I'm actually kind of enjoying it, though. I know, those are words I never thought I'd hear myself say... not that I'm saying them out loud or anything, but, still. Willow, of course, is delighted.

Between my school work and training and patrolling I'm a busy Buffy. After class, Wills and I swing by the Magic Box. Giles, Xander and Anya have been working like crazy for the last couple of weeks getting things ready. It smells like sawdust and incense and candles when Giles opens the door wearing ... are those paint splattered jeans?

They've remodeled it quite a bit. I don't remember it feeling this big and open before. There's gleaming shelving along the walls, and little tables draped with scarves. They've even added a lofty thing, with a ladder, as a place to shelve the more dangerous books. There's a long glass counter, and Anya is hand lettering a sign for it next to the old fashioned looking register. It's starting to actually look like a real magic shop.

Willow, of course, heads straight for the magic supplies but I'm just enjoying looking around. This place might be new but it holds memories. Last year I had to come in here looking for supplies to reverse Willow's "Will Be Done" spell that left Giles blind and me engaged to Spike. The year before that this was the place where Spike and Angel and I had our showdown with Mr. Trick's fang gang, and the year before that... I _think_ this is where Ethan Rayne had his costume shop. The costume that almost got me killed... by Spike.

I'm sensing a pattern.

I feel the sudden urge to stake something.

When Giles leads me to the backroom, though, I'm floored.

Literally.

Riley's tackle, however, is only a momentary distraction.

"Oh, my god! Look at this place!" There's a punching bag, and one of those gymnastics horse things. Weapons line the walls. There are tumbling mats and even a funny straw-stuffed dummy with fangs. It's incredible, and suddenly I want to hug everyone.

"Thank you. Thank you guys so much!" My face is going to split, I'm smiling so big. Xander proudly shows off the dummy, and Giles ducks his head and smiles. Riley's bouncing around the room like a little boy who wants to play with all my new toys.

Christmas came early this year.

I'm in such a good mood during patrol that night that I don't even mind when Riley tags along and does most of the stake-age. And when we get back to Riley's, I'm still smiling when we go to bed.

***

My dream vampire, on the other hand, is still grouchy.

I think I'm going to call him Mr. Gordo, after my stuffed pig, because he's silent, sleeps beside me every night, and he makes those snuffly pig noises sometimes.  I can't keep calling him "my dream vampire". It's way too romantic sounding.

I know better than most that vampires and romance are totally unmixy.

When I tell him I'm going to call him Mr. Gordo from now on, he growls at me.

Maybe I should re-think the pig theme...

***

I'm at school the next morning when I get the phone call from the hospital.

My mom collapsed at work. Riley picks me up and we rush over.

"Your mom is resting right now," the intern tells me. "We're not sure why she passed out, and we'll be running some tests. It might just be low blood sugar, but we want to rule out anything potentially serious."

"Potentially serious?" I ask, worried. Oh, god. Riley pulls me against his chest and I cling to his side. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to my mom.

"Does your mom have a history of fainting?"

I shake my head, feeling a little dizzy myself.  The intern tries to reassure me, but I'm not really listening. I lean back against Riley's chest...

And frown.

What the hell is that?

"Riley, are you okay?" I press my ear against his chest. His heart is racing. I know I'm feeling a little shaken up but... this is wrong. Really wrong.

"I'm fine, Buffy," he tells me, shrugging it off even though it's clearly _not_ fine. How long has this been going on?  "Let's go check on your mom."

"No, wait," I gesture at the intern whose name I've already forgotten. "Can you listen to his pulse?"

Riley argues for a minute, but agrees mostly to calm me down.

Whatever the intern hears, he's even more concerned than I am, and before we know it we've been ushered into an exam room and Riley's being examined by a doctor.

***

Tachycardia. Fancy doctor speak for Your Heart Is About To Explode.

Riley won't listen. He keeps insisting that he's fine and that he's determined to go home. The doctor thinks he's nuts but she says there's nothing she can do to keep him here. Maybe nothing she can do, but I'm ready to go see if I can find some manacles and chain him to the bed. He's not having it though.

"What's going on?" I demand. "What are you doing? What if you have a heart attack?"

His big hands caress my shoulders but it's not reassuring at all. When did his hands get so hot? "Listen to me. Calm down," he says.

"Me calm down? I'm not the one with a pulse of a hundred and fifty."

He rolls his eyes."My heart's different from yours, Buffy. It works differently now, but it's okay."

No, it's _not_ okay, I want to scream. "But you're still a human, Riley. You could still have a heart attack." I don't understand why he's fighting this. Does he really want to die?

"I'm a human who was used as a lab rat for months," he says, but it sounds like an excuse. I'm about to argue some more when the door opens, admitting Willow and my mom. They're sending mom home while we wait for the test results.

I should feel relieved, but all of a sudden all I can think about is how two of the most important people in my world are sick and there's not a damn thing I'm able to do about it.

***

Mom seems fine, and it's only after I threaten to tie her to the couch that she agrees to rest for a few hours. It's Riley that has me concerned. After he dropped us off he left to meet up with some friends. He wouldn't even talk about it.

I don't get it. I mean, yeah, he was basically Maggie Walsh's guinea pig before she started on Adam, but that doesn't mean he's not human anymore. Whatever she did to him, it can't be good, and it can't be healthy. His heart isn't built for this... but he's acting like it's nothing. Like... like it's what he wants, which totally does not make sense.

It's like he wants to self-destruct.

I can't lose him, too. I can't. I know it's not true but... somewhere in the back of my head I've gotten this idea that the men who date me are doomed somehow. I know, Riley isn't Angel, and I'm probably not going to have to stab him and send him to hell, but I can't lose him. I can't just sit back and watch him destroy himself like this.

Willow suggests calling the Initiative. Since they're the ones who did this to him in the first place, maybe they know how to fix it. But I don't know how to contact them.

"It's so unfair! I mean, it's like Big Brother can spy on you all the time, and...and the second I have something to say, no one will listen!" I say, then pause.

Wait a minute. Big Brother. Spying. Listening...

Maybe there is a way to contact them after all.

***

At Riley's, when I pick up the phone, it makes a weird clicky noise before the dial tone kicks in. Suddenly I understand why Riley hates talking on the phone.

"Riley's in trouble," I say to the dial tone. "He needs help."

***

Help arrives in the form of Graham, Riley's old Initiative buddy. He's sporting a shiny new bruise on his jaw and a concerned look in his eyes when he tells me that he and two other agents tried to talk Riley into going to the hospital. Riley didn't like that idea, it seems.

Time is running out, he explains. We have to get Riley to the doctor as soon as possible. It might already be too late.

I run.

***

In the Magic Box, the Scoobies do what we do best in times of crisis: babble. Riley is nowhere to be found. Finally, for lack of other options, I send Xander and Anya to the docks, and Willow and Tara to the burned out Sunnydale High. He lived there for awhile. "Homey," Willow calls it.

"Homey... you know what else he might find homey in a ... dank, unpleasant, evil sort of way?" I'm thinking out loud. "The Initiative caves. I don't know them too well."

"We do have an associate who knows those caves like the back of his melanin deprived hand," Giles suggests.

I groan. Spike. Why is it always Spike?

***

"I've got a proposition for you," I say after kicking his crypt door open. Spike's sitting on top of a sarcophagus, looking peeved. With a quick move he's off the coffin and in my face, righteous and indignant as if he hadn't been sitting there plotting evil things in his twisted, evil head.

"Funny," he growls. "I've got a proposition for you. What about knocking? Seems only fair since we vamps can't enter your flat without an invite, you could at least—say, look at those pretty pieces of paper..."

Really, sometimes, it's too easy.

"Riley's sick with some Initiative thing and he's missing," I tell him. "I think he's in the caves. You find him, get him to the fourth floor of the hospital, their doctors get to him in time, you get the cash." I wave it in front of him, knowing that cash is the only thing besides blood that means anything to Spike.

He smirks and I resist the urge to punch him. I need his help right now.

"Oh, dear," he says, smug as a canary-stuffed cat. "Is the enormous hall-monitor sick? Tell me, is he going to die?"

Don't hit him. Don't hit him. Don't hit him.

I hit him. Slap him right across his smirking, too-handsome face. "He's not the only one who can die," I promise. He glares, and in his eyes it's all too easy to see a creature that has spent the last hundred years bathing in the blood of innocents.

"I'm just saying," he says through gritted teeth, "if it's that important to you, I think I'll get half now."

My temper wins again. I tear the wad of cash in half and hit him in the chest with it.

***

Of course, I don't really trust Spike. Money might be a motivator, but I know he hates Riley for what the Initiative did to him, and besides, he's evil. There's a good chance that what I'm able to pay him wouldn't be enough motivation for him to go out of his way to save Riley's life. Just because he's chipped doesn't mean he can't kill through neglect, and I can almost picture the happy Spike would get if Riley died. So, I go back to the house and find a flashlight and my jacket, then head for the caves myself.

It feels like I've been stumbling around blindly for an hour when the sound of something pounding rock up ahead gets my attention.

Riley.

His knuckles are bruised and bloody, but he says he can't feel it. He's sweating, and too hot, and I know we're running out of time.

"This stops now," I tell him. But he won't listen. He's afraid, I can see that. Afraid of putting himself in the government's hands after what they've done to him before... but there's more than that.

"Best case scenario," he mutters unhappily, "they turn me into Joe Normal. Just another guy."

And suddenly I understand. "And that's not enough for you?"

"It's not enough for you," he says quietly. "Your last boyfriend wasn't exactly a civilian."

Oh, god. No. This is because he thinks I need a superhero for a boyfriend? That I can't be content with normal? I went _looking_ for normal. Angel was... god, I can't think about Angel right now. I can't. Riley is... amazing. Not because he's got super strength, but _because_ he's normal. Because with him I can just... be Buffy. How can he not get that?

"So, that's what this is about?" I can't help demanding. "You're going to die, all over some macho pissing contest?"

"It's not about him," Riley says, even though, clearly, it is. "It's about us. You're getting stronger every day, more powerful. I can't touch you. Every day, you're just a little further out of my reach."

That's not true. That's so not true. God, don't let that be true.

"You wanna touch me? I'm right here. I'm not the one running away."

"Not yet," he says, as if it's a given that I will. I thought he knew. Thought he understood. I don't run away. It's the men who run. They always run. My father, Angel, even jerk-face Parker... now Riley wants to _die_? I can't let that happen.

"So you have this all figured out," I say. "I'm bailing because you're not in the super club?"

He feeds me some bullshit about it being human nature. Right, because super powers and vampire slaying are so the sorts of things that everyone else has to deal with. One girl in all the world. Surely I merit my own brand of psychology.

I never could have been as close to Angel as I've been with Riley. For one thing, there was the whole soul issue. For another... I don't know how to explain it. "Nobody has ever known me the way you do. Nobody. I've opened up to you in ways that I've never opened up to... God, you're just sitting there thinking that none of this means anything to me."

"I never said that," he says. He didn't have to.

"Because it obviously doesn't mean anything to you," I can feel myself about to cry. I hate crying. "Do you really think so little of me? Do you think I spent the last year with you because you had superpowers? If that's what I wanted, then I'd be dating Spike."

He gives me a look, like he thinks that's exactly what I'd be doing. Clearly he hasn't forgotten that whole "engaged to Spike" moment from last year, which, hello, was before we started dating and was caused by a spell anyway.

"I need you with me," I tell him. "I need you healthy. But if you wanna throw it all away because you don't trust me, then... then I'm still going to make you go to that doctor."

Because I love him. Because I care about him. And because protecting humans is my job... even when they need protected from themselves.

Maybe Riley gets that I'm serious, or maybe he's sensing the danger he's in. I don't know and I don't care. All I care about is that he finally agrees to come with me.  We don't have time to fight over this.

"Loving you is the scariest thing I've ever done, Buffy," he says quietly. My heart thuds heavily at that, and all of a sudden I'm really, really scared that I'm losing him.

"I don't know why," I say. Because really, I don't.

Why is loving me so awful?

***

We make it to the hospital only to find that Graham has been knocked unconscious and the doctor is missing.

God, I _knew_ I couldn't trust Spike. Figures he'd hear "Initiative doctor" and immediately decide to try to get his chip out. That selfish, evil... ugh.

I'm so going to dust his ass. As soon as I find him.

I just have to hope that I'm not too late. It's bad enough that the clock is ticking for Riley, but now I have to worry about fighting Spike? Fighting Spike is _never_ easy, something I hate to admit to anyone. Of all the vamps and demons I've faced, he's the only one still around... for a reason. We're pretty evenly matched, and he's inventive and knows how to use my weaknesses against me. The last time we actually really fought, when he had the Gem of Amara, it was pretty close.

Too close.

And I don't have the time for an epic battle against Spike when Riley's clock is running down.

I just have to hope that I get there before Spike has a chance to get his chip out.

***

He leaps up from the table the minute I walk in the door, and I feel my heart sink. I'm too late.

Now I have to dust Spike.

Gone is the too handsome, stubborn, annoying vampire and in his place is my old enemy. Lethal, lithe, and predatory, Spike embodies everything that vampires ought to be and so rarely actually are. When he slides into game face it's almost a relief.

It's so much easier to fight him when I can see his demon. I've always had a problem staking vamps when they're not in demon face, and it's ten times harder when I know the vamp in question. Riley and Harmony are fighting in the background, a noisy soundtrack to our battle.

With him chipped I haven't been able to justify killing him. I hate the thought of killing something that can't fight back. But with Spikey off the leash, there's nothing holding me back now. His ass is totally mine.

We dance around each other, and I can almost see the glee in Spike's eyes. He's enjoying this, the sick freak. Anger gives me strength, makes my muscles almost sing, I'm so ready to fight him. I can almost picture how he's going to launch himself at me, fists flying. I brace myself, ready to meet his charge.

Except Spike does a standing leap up onto the operating table and looms over me instead, ready to pounce. The move surprises me for a moment, and that's all it takes before he's on me, pinning me to the ground. His cold body is ruthlessly strong as he pins my hands and pulls my head to the side, ready to take a bite. Still... there's a weird hesitation, and for a fraction of a second I could almost swear I see regret flash in his yellow eyes. He roars, however, destroying that illusion and his fangs descend...

Only to be ripped violently away before they even come close to my throat. He screams, pressing his palms to his head and tearing himself off of me. I help by kicking him back. For a moment, he crouches against a cabinet, staring at me and panting. He glances at the doctor beside him, who is trying not to look guilty and smug at the same time.

Oh, god. The doctor didn't remove the chip. It's still there.

Spike can't kill me.

Can't kill anyone.

And I can't kill him.

Not sure what to do, I freeze. Then Riley screams and clutches his chest. I rush to his side, yelling for the doctor, barely registering Spike and Harmony's fleeing figures.

If Riley dies, Spike's dead, too. Chip, or no chip.

***

A few hours later, Riley's all patched up. I'm not really sure what the doctor did to him, but the hole it left in him seems small compared to how major this all was. He'll be fine. He will.

If only I was so sure of the same thing when it came to my mother. In all the fuss I've nearly forgotten, but seeing Riley sitting up reminds me and now I really want to check on her. I almost lost him today because I hadn't been paying attention to the warning signs. That's not going to happen with my mom.

I pass Restfield on my way home, and for a moment I linger outside of the gates. It would be so easy to go in, to dust Spike. I could totally try to justify it. Being chipped clearly didn't stop him from getting Harmony to do his dirty work, or from kidnapping the doctor. Chipped doesn't mean harmless.

I came so close to losing Riley tonight, and it's all Spike's fault.

In the end, though, I turn away.

As angry as I am, it wouldn't be fair. He can't fight back. Xander would argue that it'd be like putting down a rabid dog but... I can't do it.

Someday I'll have to face a chipless Spike. Someday we'll be equals again, and we'll finally figure out which of us is stronger, faster, the better fighter.

But not tonight.

When I go to bed that night, I'm exhausted. It's been such a roller coaster of a day. I'm out the minute my head hits my pillow, and I barely register being awake in that other room before I pass back out again. The vampire isn't even there when I fall asleep, which is probably a good thing.

So not in the mood to deal with vampires right now.

 


	6. No Place Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimers: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from the episode "No Place Like Home" written by Douglas Petrie.

 

 A few days later Xander, Tara, Willow, Anya and I are at the Bronze.

"Where's Riley?" Xander asks, sliding cups in front of Anya and me.

"On his way. Said he had some stuff to do before we met up," I say with a shrug and an eye on the door.

"You seem a little... worried," Xander says.

"Worried? I'm not worried," I say. Willow and Xander give me disbelieving looks. "Okay, so I'm a little worried. But only a teensy tiny bit."

"I'm sure he's fine," Willow pats my arm.

"I know," I say, and I do. "It's just... he sometimes still acts like he's Superman, when instead he's all..."

"Bruce Wayne, without the cool toys?" Xander supplies.

"Sort of. I know he's capable of taking care of himself, but... I worry. And the last day or two, on patrol, it's been kind of..."

"Distracting?" Anya says, sipping at her soda.

"Well...," I'm not sure how to answer that, because she's kind of right. It is distracting, always having to keep an eye on him, making sure he's handling his end of the fight okay. Vampires are like other predators, and they'll usually pick on the weakest in the herd. Visually, that would be me, but once a fight starts they inevitably figure out that Riley's lagging a little behind. "It's just hard to patrol when I have to look out for him, you know?"

"It's difficult, having a relationship between unequal beings," Anya says, conversationally. "I knew this Htfif demon once who was in love with an Eno demon, only Htfif demons are incredibly intelligent and Enoes think licking wallpaper glue is entertaining. It didn't work out so well."

"Not helping, Ahn," Xander says, with an uncomfortable smile. She frowns at him.

"Riley's my equal," I say. "He's so totally my equal. I don't know why everyone seems to think I need a guy with super powers for a boyfriend."

"Who said that?" Willow demands.

"Riley," I say, remembering the look on his face in the caves.

"Well, he's wrong. I mean, if you wanted a boyfriend with super powers you'd be dating...," Willow's face scrunches up as she tries to think of someone.

"Spike," Anya says. Then, "What? You can't date Angel because of the soul thing, and Spike is the next logical choice." She glances around at all of us as if we should have thought of that ourselves.

"Logical? Anya, nothing about the idea of dating Spike is logical," I say.

"True. He's very strange for a vampire. Physically, however, you two are compatible. Close to equal strength, speed, and stamina. Not to mention that he's a good height for you, and very well muscled."

"How the hell do you know how muscled Spike is? When did you see him naked?" Xander demands, looking horrified.

"Not naked. Shirtless. And the same time you did," she says dryly, rolling her eyes. "Remember the tracking device?"

Xander blinks. "Oh. Yeah. Must have blocked that memory."

"I remember," Willow says. "But didn't really notice. Much. Except, you know, for the whole... bulging biceps thing. I wonder if all vampires are built like that?"

Tara gives her a look. "Just curious," Willow says primly. "Scientifically curious."

I'm still reeling from Anya practically repeating my thought in the cave. Also, has everyone but me seen Spike shirtless?

Clearly it's time to change the subject.

"Well, I'm not dating Spike. I'm dating Riley. And we're more than equal... except for the whole strength thing," I say. "Besides, he's kind of cute like this, all weak and kitteny."

"Kitteny?" Willow says with a smile.

"Well, like a... a... lion kitten," I say. "Not like house cat kitten." Anya still looks skeptical, and Xander has that whole male-solidarity-you're-insulting-my-gender expression that he gets sometimes.

I'm saved by Riley's timely arrival, and I immediately grab him for a dance.

"What was that all about?" he asks with a grin once we're on the floor.

"Nothing," I say. "Just... missing you."

We dance, and it's nice. Really really nice. Even though Riley isn't much of a dancer.

And his biceps are perfectly bulgy.

***

I'm worried about my mom.

I keep thinking about how awful it would have been if she'd collapsed at home, with no one there to keep an eye on her. It might have been hours before...

Okay, so not going to have that thought right now.

So Riley and I have made it a habit to check on her at night, before bed. Sometimes we even stay over. She doesn't seem to mind as much as I would have thought.

This morning, however, Riley has stuff to do, so I'm making breakfast. French toast has got to be better for mom than instant oatmeal mix or cereal. Her headaches are back, she says when she comes down. And they brought friends.

"What did the doctor say?" I ask, sliding her breakfast tray in front of her. I wish I could have gone with her to the doctor's yesterday, but she'd only been able to make the appointment when I had class.

"Oh, take four of some pills a day and come back for tests," she says. She looks tired.

"So they don't know what's wrong?" I ask, frowning. They're doctors. They're supposed to just look down your throat or x-ray you and be able to figure it out, right?

"Not yet," she says.

"Well that's unacceptable," I say. How can they have run so many tests and not know what's wrong yet? It's been days and... days. Maybe they're bad doctors. You know, laying around on the job, playing golf or something when they should be taking care of my mom. "I think we should get a second opinion."

"We need a first opinion first, honey," she reminds me.

"Fine. Let's go right now," I say. I hate this sitting around, waiting. I want to be doing something. Helping somehow. I know I'm not supposed to use Slayer strength on normal people, but nobody ever said I couldn't be bossy Buffy. We could go down to the hospital and I could... you know, encourage them to hurry it up.

"Buffy, I know you're concerned, but don't be," Mom says, as if that's something easy. How can I not be concerned? "Besides," she adds in a clear effort to distract me, "isn't it Giles's big day?"

Oh, she's good. "Bigger than big," I say with a grin. "It's his grand opening." I can't help but be a little excited for him. He even put an ad in the paper. Mom gets that look on her face she always used to get when we'd hear about a new store opening up at the mall. She may be a grown up, and I might be the Slayer, but at heart, we're still California girls and the thought of shopping—even in a weird speciality magic shop—can always put a smile on our faces.

"Well, go and bring me back a... I don't know... a flying broomstick," she suggests.

I laugh. If mom's able to make jokes about broomsticks she'll be alright for a little while. She has to be.

***

The Magic Box is silent as the grave when I get there (which is a bad analogy, I know, cause graves in Sunnydale? Not so silent). Giles, for some bizarre reason is dressed like a wizard, in purple star spangled robes. Thankfully he takes the hint and gets out of them before anyone other than us sees him. The quiet is pretty nerve wracking, until the first customers start to trickle in.

By midafternoon the shop is full of busy customers, though. Way full. Fuller than I think even Giles suspected.

Riley and I sneak into the back room to spar for a break around lunchtime. I've always had to hold back a little bit with Riley. Even when he was getting juiced by the Initiative his strength was never a match for mine. Now the gap between us is looking less like a crack in the pavement and more like the Grand Canyon. It's not really a problem; I'm used to having to hold back with Giles, but Riley gets irritated at me when I do it with him.

"I just don't want to hurt you," I say.

"You won't," he insists, but he's already holding his ribs from where I accidentally kicked too hard. "I can take it. Besides. It's good training. Not like the vampires are going to hold back on me."

I frown. He's right, of course, but it just reminds me again of why it's such a bad idea for him to be patrolling. He must read the expression on my face because suddenly he's pounding on the punching bag furiously.

"You don't have to protect me, Buffy," he says, gritting his teeth and slamming his fists into the bag.

"I know," I say, and wish it were true.

***

I leave a little later to go check on my mom. She's curled up on the couch and moaning. I want to take her to the doctor's but she insists she just needs her medication. By the time I run out, get it, and get back she's asleep.

I don't know what to do. I hate that she's here all the time by herself. I hate that her headaches are getting worse and worse. I can't go to school and be here to keep an eye on her at the same time. 

I throw together some soup for dinner, and we eat it and watch TV until it's time for me to patrol. Riley hasn't shown up, and I wonder where he's disappeared to tonight. He wouldn't have gone patrolling on his own... would he?

Mom's asleep again, so I grab a jacket and lock up on my way out. I'm only a few steps from the door when the tinglies kick in.

Vampire.

"Spike," I say, yanking him out from behind the tree. I haven't seen him since the chip incident and I'm not too pleased to see him now.

"Hi, Buffy," he says, giving me an odd look. For a second I blink at him. I can't think of the last time he's called me by name. Normally it's _Slayer_ this or _Slayer_ that. The expression on his face throws me, too. It's... soft. Which is weird. Spike never looks unsure like that, and the only thing I can think is that he's worried I'm going to stake him over the whole chip thing.

Well, I guess I do owe him one.

"Don't take this the wrong way," I say and punch him in the nose, successfully wiping that weird look off his face.

"Ow!" He scowls.

"What are you doing here?" He starts to speak but I interrupt, not in the mood for his bull tonight. I want to get to the cemeteries and make sure Riley isn't getting in trouble. "Five words or less," I tell him.

His jaw works for a minute and his eyes narrow dangerously. He holds up a hand and counts the words off on his fingers. "Out. For. A. Walk." He smirks. "Bitch."

Right, like I believe that evil vampires just go for casual nighttime strolls through residential neighborhoods.

"Out for a walk at night by my house. No one has time for this, William," I tell him. See if it throws him to be called by his name. He blinks, but otherwise it doesn't seem to bother him.

"On your merry way, then," he says, then his temper kicks in. "You know, contrary to one's self-involved world-view, your house happens to be directly between parts... and... other parts... of this town. And I _would_ pass by in the day but I feel I'm outgrowing my whole 'burst into flame' phase."

Whatever. I really don't feel like dealing with him right now.

"Fine. Keep going, I cut you a break."

Stupid vampire doesn't know when he's getting a let.

"Oh, yeah. Okay, let me guess," he says, "you won't kill me? Oooh, the whole crowd-pleasing threats-and-swagger routine." What is he talking about? I barely threatened him. "How stunningly original. You know, I'm just passing through. Satisfied?"

He turns to go, then turns back, clearly agitated. "You know, I really hope so, because God knows you need some satisfaction in life besides... shagging Captain Cardboard and I never really liked you anyway and... and... you have stupid hair."

And with that, he turns on his heel and stalks off, leaving me standing on the sidewalk blinking after him in confusion.

What. The. Hell?

I wait, hoping that reality will kick in and make sense of whatever it was that just happened. When I glance down at the base of the tree, there's at least a dozen cigarette butts laying in the dirt.

Passing through, huh?

***

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask, stepping from behind a gravestone and staking a vampire that was about to tackle Riley to the ground.

He looks up from where he's crouching after having staked a second.

"Oh. Hi, Buffy," he says. He stands, dusting off his clothes.

"You're patrolling?" I ask, irritated.  

"I was on my way to your house—," he starts.

"Through a cemetery?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Sunnydale seems to have an awful lot of cemeteries," he says dryly. "Hard not to pass one."

"Pass one," I say, angry. "Not walk through one like vamp bait."

"I can take care of myself, Buffy," he says. "I'm not just going to sit on the sidelines and watch. I've been doing this for too long. I don't need you to protect me."

The pile of dust at my feet seems to indicate otherwise, but I don't say anything, not wanting to make things worse.

***

That night I'm too agitated to sleep once I'm in the dream room. The vampire is late, as usual, and I wonder about that for the first time. Vampires usually sleep during the day, so it would make sense that his time table is behind mine, even though I do tend to go to bed very late and wake up late.

If this weren't a dream, then would it mean that we're in some kind of time warp, so that we're sleeping at the same time? Like, I go to sleep at night, but he doesn't go to sleep until morning, but somehow once we're asleep we're both here... so when I wake up in the morning this is over but he's just starting to dream this...

I'm getting a headache trying to follow that so I give up.

Instead I pace carefully around the bed, keeping my hand on it for bearings.

When the tingles start I immediately turn to face them.

If nothing else, these dreams have been honing that particular Slayer skill. I've noticed on patrol that I'm more aware of the tingles than usual.

I'm surprised to find that I'm on the wrong side of the bed. His side, facing him.

Mr. Gordo doesn't move. I figure he's about ten feet away, just standing there, watching me.

"Sorry," I say with a shrug. "Not very sleepy at the moment. Decided to go for a walk, but..." I gesture at the room. "I can't see if I'm going to bump into anything."

He doesn't speak, but he does approach, very slowly and carefully. He moves absolutely silently, and it's only the tingles increase in intensity that lets me know he's moving at all.

I wonder if he's as afraid of me as I am of him?

He stops at the foot of the bed, less than three feet away from me. We're seldom this close even once we're in bed.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" I blurt suddenly. It's a stupid question, but I suddenly really want to know.

He hesitates, then very clearly taps on the bedpost twice.

_No._

"Why not?" I ask, confused. He's silent. "Right. You're not the talkative type. Pity more vampires aren't that way. I mean, some of them even lurk loudly. And then when they open their mouths they don't know how to shut up. Parts and other parts... yeah right. And... and... do I have stupid hair?"

There's a funny sort of noise from Mr. Gordo's direction. Then he taps again.

_No_.

I narrow my eyes.

"Can you see me?"

He makes a _hmmmph_ ing sort of noise, half sigh, half snort of frustration. Then he taps.

_Yes._

"That's so unfair. Who made that stupid rule?" No answer, but I didn't really expect one. It's my turn to sigh. "I need to move. Would you...uh...walk beside me, I guess? And... maybe stop me if I'm going to run into something?"

There is a very long silence this time. So long I wonder if I've broken some unspoken rule by asking for a vampire's assistance. What if this is some kind of test? What if I'm supposed to kill him somehow, even though I don't have any weapons and am clearly at a disadvantage?

It's not like I haven't been put into that situation before.

Only this vampire doesn't seem to want me dead, and hasn't been threatening at all... well, if you don't count the nights when I can tell he's hungry. But even then he didn't try to hurt me.

If I've managed not to stake Spike for a year despite him being an annoying jerk who actually has threatened me on any number of occasions, just because he's harmless, then I guess it would be wrong to try to kill this vampire for doing nothing more irritating than being stuck in a room with me before I go to sleep. If it is a test, then I haven't failed yet by letting him live.

Finally, he taps once on the bed post. _Yes._

He doesn't move, just waits for me. When I start to walk away from the bed, he falls in on my left and easily keeps pace with me.

For awhile I just move. I have so much pent up energy right now, and a ton of frustration. After awhile I start to talk, because he's clearly listening.

"My boyfriend is an idiot," I start. "He... it's really complicated, but let's just say that for awhile he had super strength and was helping me fight vampires and demons. And now he doesn't, but he's still trying to fight. Whenever I'm patrolling I have to constantly be watching out for him, and it's... not fair. To either of us. I know I don't need to protect him, but I can't help it. I'm the Slayer. It's in my job description: protect the world from the demons and the vampires. He's part of the world that needs protecting."

I sigh. Mr. Gordo just stalks along at my side. It's actually sort of nice, having someone who won't interrupt me.

"But... I don't want to have to protect him. I liked it before when we could fight side by side, even if we didn't always agree on everything. I want him to feel useful, like he's part of the team. I... just want. Is that stupid?"

I stop and wait, then realize that there's no bed nearby for Mr. Gordo to tap on. I jump a little when a cool finger taps my shoulder twice, then retreats. _No._

"I wish I could see you," I say. "Do you have any idea how creepy it is to be in the dark with a vampire you can't see but who can see you?"

He chuckles very softly. It's not a menacing laugh though, just amused.

"Okay, so I guess vampires don't rate high on the list of things you find creepy." He chuckles again, taps my shoulder twice. _No_.

I yawn, suddenly tired. "Which way is the bed?" He hesitates, then cool fingers gently settle at my elbow and guide me forward. I let him. He has big hands, I note. We must not have gone too far because within only a few steps it seems, he stops us, then takes my wrist and guides my hand to the edge of the bed. "Thanks," I say. For a vampire, he's surprisingly polite.

I crawl into bed and sense him move around to the other side. When we're both in, separated once more by several empty feet of mattress, I pull the blankets up to my chin.

"Goodnight, Mr. Gordo," I say.

He growls softly, but I can tell he doesn't mean it. After awhile I drift off to sleep.

***

When I wake up in the morning, first thing I do is call my mom. She's fine, she says. Just tired, and her head is aching again.

All through my morning classes I turn my problems over. I don't know what to do about Riley. Maybe just give it time and we'll figure something out. As I zone out in the middle of History, and Willow has to jab me several times to get my attention, I realize that I do know what to do about my mom.

When I tell Willow, she agrees regretfully.

"Maybe things will be better by next semester," she says. I hope so.

It surprisingly doesn't take that long to drop all of your classes and arrange to move out of your dorm. Somehow I thought they'd try harder to get me to stay, but once I explained the problem everyone was really helpful.

My mother, however, is not so easy to convince.

"Buffy, you can't do this. This is your future," she says.

"And you're my mother. I can't sit in class and worry about you. My grades will just drop anyway. I can't concentrate in school knowing that you're home by yourself and sick. Once we figure out what's wrong and fix it, I'll go back. I promise. I just... I need to know you're okay," I tell her, wrapping my arms around her.

"Buffy—," she says.

"It's already done, mom. I'm moving back home tomorrow." I smile. "You've taken care of me for years. Now it's my turn to take care of you."

We hug for a really long time. This was the right decision.

 


	7. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimer: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from the episode "Family" written by Joss Whedon.

 

It takes the better part of five hours, even with everyone helping, to get me moved out of my dorm room. As we're finishing up, Willow reminds us about Tara's birthday party tomorrow night.

Crap.

I like Tara. She's really, really nice. I just... don't know her very well. She's quiet and shy, and she stutters sometimes when she's nervous. She's also way smart, and she and Willow seem to connect on some level that's totally beyond me — which, I mean, yes, obviously, because, uh... she's Willow's girlfriend. And there's a big difference between girlfriend and best friend. Big difference. Of the 'I'd rather not picture it in graphic detail' variety.

But Tara _is_ nice.

And, well, since I'm being honest with myself, I'll admit it: she kinda makes me feel stupid, without even trying.

And I totally don't know what to get her for a present.

Xander and I are discussing the topic at the Magic Box later, when this moronic rednecky guy butts in and starts asking dumb questions about Giles's books and the magic shop. Which instantly makes me feel like a super genius because no way am I _that_ moronic.

It's even more shocking when it turns out that Forrest Gump here is Tara's brother.

Apparently her father and brother and... some chick she's related to, maybe a cousin?... have come to take her back home. Tara doesn't seem thrilled, and the vibe I'm getting off her family makes me think that home isn't exactly where Tara's heart is. Eventually they go away, but the vibe remains.

There are times when I'm glad I don't have much family, and that what I do have, I love. Mom and I may have had our rough spots, but we're still totally a team. I know if I need her, she'll have my back.

I leave early to check on her. Riley's there waiting. I catch him just as he's coming down from my room. He's put away all of my stuff, which is sweet, if a little domestic.

I have the best boyfriend.

Except somehow I screw it up.

I don't know if it's the whole patrol thing or what but we end up fighting over pretty much nothing. When he leaves I'm frustrated and not sure what to do.

I don't know how to help him feel useful, and I don't know how to make him feel needed.

Why can't I just have a normal, healthy relationship? What's wrong with me?

***

Mom had a doctor's appointment earlier in the day, and she's decided to do the rest thing for the afternoon. She has a new prescription to be filled and it's easy enough to run down to the hospital and pick it up for her.

Good thing, too.

I hate hospitals. I really do. They're so sterile and everyone always talks in these hushed sort of voices. And half the people there are sick or injured or dying... or dead. Or undead.

Being the Slayer means pulling morgue duty way more often than I like.

Also, it's apparently the demon equivalent of an all you can eat buffet, because I'm constantly finding them there. Today I find one lingering near a door into the staff breakroom. The screaming was a good clue that something was going on.

I'm not sure what kind of demon this guy is that I'm fighting. Looks like Tim Curry in that movie about the scary clown, only minus the good hair and covered in open sores. He's strong, and crafty enough that he somehow manages to slip away when hospital security interrupts our impromptu bout in the hallway.

I swing home quick to drop off mom's medicine before heading to the Magic Box to fill everyone in on the new nasty.

***

Tara begged out of the Scooby meeting, Willow tells us when she arrives. Too tired after talking to her dad, I guess.

I wasn't able to get a hold of Riley, which should worry me, but maybe he just needs space after our argument earlier. Boys need that sometimes, right? Space? I wish I knew what to do to help him but I totally don't. Still, if he wants space, I won't push. I think sometimes with Angel I was a little too clingy. I'm not going to make that mistake again. But at the same time I really wish Riley would understand my point of view.

Without Riley or Tara it feels like an old-school Scooby meeting. Only, you know, without the school part. With some sugary donut fortification we hit the books, trying to track down my scary clown friend.

I'm not really research-girl, though, and I get bored pretty fast. Especially when Pennywise doesn't turn up in the first few books I flip through.

Hours of musty old books later I'm frustrated and ready to just go out after it. When a knock sounds at the door, but no one is there, I decide it's time for a break. "I need to go punch something," I tell Giles and head for the back room.

I'm just starting to warm up on the punching bag when I sense something. It's not vampire, but it's definitely demony, and it feels like it's somewhere in the room.

A growl is all the warning I get, but it's enough for me to spin and block the invisible blow. Whatever it is, I can't see it to fight it, and that's got me wigged. I haven't fought anything invisible in... I can't remember. Feeling at a disadvantage like this scares me, especially when whatever it is manages to slam me against the floor hard and pin me there.

Dimly I register the sound of the backdoor opening, and suddenly a change in the tingles. There's a vampire in the room, and if I'm not mistaken, he's both powerful and familiar. Spike.

I manage to get my invisible attacker off me and throw it against the wall. A nasty crack tells me it's incapacitated or dead. Worried, I glance around, hearing the sound of scuffling and punches, but there's nothing to be seen. Just the sense of demon and Spike somewhere in the room.

A scream from the front of the store sends me running. Willow is holding a chair, Anya has barricaded herself behind a counter, and Giles is getting punched in the face by another Mr. Nobody. It stops as I enter.

"Where'd it go?" Xander asks.

"Shhh, everyone be quiet," I say, trying to listen. My Slayer sense is tingling, and it feels as if the demon is...  Just then the front door opens and Tara rushes in.

"Buffy! Behind you!" she yells. Okay... so... whatever it is, it's not invisible to Tara. What the hell is going on? Suddenly I'm flying across the table, rolling to my feet instinctively to face... nothing.

"Tara, where is it? Can you see it?"

"Oh, god," she says, looking horrified. Suddenly she's chanting.

"Blind Cadria, lift your veil, give evil form, and break my spell..."

There's a weird moment when there's nothing, then something. The clown demon I fought at the hospital rushes Tara, knocking her down. It only takes a couple of steps before I trip it. The demon lands face first on the steps up to the front landing, and gawks for a second when the door opens. With a kick of my very stylish boots, I break its neck.

Only to look up into the faces of three very confused and freaked out humans. It takes a minute for the adrenaline haze to clear and for me to place them: Tara's family.

"What in God's name is that thing?" Mr. Maclay asks, horrified.

"Lei-Ach demon," says Spike, coming in from the back room and rubbing bruised knuckles. "Fun little buggers, big with the marrow sucking." Ha! Totally knew he was there. He must have taken care of the one in the back.

Weird of him to help, but I'm not going to question it right now.

"I don't understand," Mr. Maclay says.

It takes a little while to make sense of things. According to Mr. MacCrankypants all the women in his family have demon blood... something I've never heard of before, but I guess might be possible. Tara was worried we'd see her demon side so she cast a spell. One that almost got us all killed, of course, but as Willow points out, it was a mistake.

Spells around here DO tend to go kablooey.

And the vibe I was getting from Tara's family earlier? Totally worse now. This guy is starting to make Spike look positively kittenish by comparison and he's really pissing me off with all his high-handed orders. Tara is clearly upset, crying, and doesn't want to leave.

"You're going to do what's right, Tara," her father says. "Now, I'm taking you out of here before somebody does get killed. The girl belongs with her family. I hope that's clear to the rest of you."

Crystal.

I've dealt with a lot of things over the years, and the one thing I know is this: you build your family and you keep them close. It doesn't matter if you share blood or not. Willow and Xander... they're the closest things to siblings I'll ever have. And Giles... way better father figure than my real dad. I may not always love the choices they make, or understand them, but I won't see anyone in my family get hurt.

I may not be able to stop whatever is happening to my mom, but I can stop this. Demon blood or not, Tara is one of us now.

"You want her, Mr. Maclay? Go ahead and take her," I say. "You just gotta go through me."

"What is this?" Mr. Maclay says, clearly confused.

"You wanna take Tara out of here against her will? You gotta come through me," I say.

"Is this a joke? I'm not going to be threatened by a little girl."

Ugh... could he be more piggish?

It doesn't take long before Giles and Xander are backing me up. Not that I needed them to, but Tara clearly did. The look on her face is shocked, amazed, and absolutely glowing.

"You're dealing with all of us," Xander says.

"'Cept me," Spike pipes up from the back.

"'Cept Spike," Xander confirms.

"I don't care what happens," says the vampire.

I try not to roll my eyes.

"Are you people insane? You people have no right to interfere in Tara's affairs. WE are her blood kin. Who the hell are you?" Mr. Maclay is starting to fray at the edges.

"Family," I say. Because we are.

He's furious. Her brother is furious. Her trampy, ice-queeny cousin has moved past furious and onto seething.

"Well, I hope you'll all be happy hanging out with a disgusting demon," she spits.

"Um, excuse me?" Anya's got her hand up like we're back in high school again. "What kind?"

This clearly throws all of them for a loop.

"What kind of demon is she?" Anya asks again. "There's a lot of different kinds. Some are very, very evil. And some have been considered to be useful members of society."

"What does it matter?" Tara's father says. "Evil is evil."

"Well, let's just narrow it down," Anya says, with a surprising amount of steel in her voice.

Then Spike steps forward. "Ah...," he practically purrs it. "Why don't I make this simple?"

What with the huh? How?

Before I realize what he's about to do, he steps forward and taps Tara on the shoulder. She turns, and Spike punches her very carefully in the nose. They both yell in pain, Tara clutching her surprisingly unbroken nose, and Spike his aching head.

Holy crap.

Did Spike just... what did he just do?

"He hit my nose!" Tara says.

"And it hurt!" Willow says, as shocked as the rest of us. "Hurt him, I mean!"

"And that only works on humans," I say. Spike is shaking the pain off.

"There's no demon in there," he says, derisively. "That's just a family legend. Bit of spin to keep the ladies in line." He eyes Mr. Maclay up and down. "Oh, you're a piece of work. I like you."

He would.

"You're welcome," Spike tells Tara, before striding purposefully out, one hand still rubbing his head.

Huh.

It doesn't take too long for Tara's family to leave after that. Good riddance. Tara is so sweet and nice, and her family doesn't deserve her at all.

We, on the other hand, are very happy to have her.

***

Later that night, as I wait for Mr. Gordo to show up, my mind is back on the fight with the Lei-Ach demons. A couple of things are bothering me.

First, I really, really hated not being able to see what I was fighting. Giles, for a while, had been training me blindfolded, but I'd never had much luck with it beyond being able to sense the most basic of attacks. It never occurred to me that my demon tinglies could be of use in a fight, because obviously, Giles isn't a demon.

The other thing that was wigging me was invisible Spike.

I sensed him. The minute he came through the door, I knew he was there. When I can see him, I don't always pay attention to the tingles I get around him. I forget how strong they are with him, forget that he's an old vampire, even if he is chipped. Power rolls off him in waves.

When Willow and I had discussed my dream vampire before, we'd considered that it might be Spike. But if... _IF_ this weren't a dream (which I'm totally sure it is), but if it weren't and the vampire _was_ Spike, wouldn't I know? As quickly and easily as I'd identified him in the Magic Box, wouldn't I know if that were him creeping up on me in the dark now, approaching the bed?

The only thing was, here my vamp sense seems... muffled. For lack of a better word. Like someone has wrapped me in a thick blanket.

I'm not really sure what to make of that. But it makes me think that this _is_ , definitely, a dream.

On the other hand, the last few months of sleeping in a room with a vampire I can't see have honed my ability to sense them somewhat. I'd noticed it on patrol, and when fighting that demon earlier, too. I'd relied on it in ways I normally didn't.

Dream or not, it's a useful skill.

Which is why, as Mr. Gordo pads quietly toward the bed, I have an idea.

"Wait!" I say. He pauses. I feel it dimly.

"Don't move," I say, scrambling out of bed. I'm thankful I'd worn a tank top and long pajama bottoms to bed tonight. I know he can see me, and the idea of exposing myself to him when wearing what I sometimes wore for Riley left me blushing.

I edge carefully around the bed until I'm on his side. He waits.

"I... I want to try something," I say, finally. "I... know this is going to sound strange but I want to try something. With you. I mean, with your help."

Okay, so I'm asking a dream vampire for help. Either I'm crazy or... I'm crazy. But after so long sleeping next to him, and how polite he was the other night, it seems weird to just order him around. Rude, somehow. Besides, it's a dream, and I can do what I want in a dream. Right?

Mr. Gordo seems to be waiting, and I hear him shift a little, as if uncomfortable.

"I'm not going to stake you," I say, sure somehow that he's worried that I will. "That is... as long as you promise not to try to kill me." He makes an odd little noise and I realize he has no way of responding to that. "Will you promise not to try to kill me?"

There's not even a hesitation. _Yes,_ he taps...and it sounds like he may have patted his pants or something, since he's nowhere near the bed.

"Okay," I say, thinking fast. "Okay... I... want to train. With you. Sort of. I want to practice figuring out where you are since I can't see you. It's easy, when you're moving slow, but can we somehow make it more difficult? Maybe like... vampire hide and go seek?"

He chuckles softly.

"Other than the bed, is there anything in here that I could run into that might hurt me?" I doubt it, somehow. The room seemed empty enough when walking it with him before.

_No_ , he taps, confirming my thoughts.

"Okay, so... you go somewhere in the room and wait, and I'll find you. Then you move to a different spot, and I'll find you again. Would... is that okay?"

_Yes._

"Alright," I say. "Whenever you're ready. I'll give you a head start."

Abruptly, he's gone. Just... gone.

Or... no, not gone. Far away. Slightly out of range.

I remember my training sessions with Giles, when he'd make me try to "protect" something. The bed, I decide, is my landmark, and also represents something I needed to keep track of. A victim maybe, or a powerful object, or Riley... I try to lock its location in my head, so that when I move, I'll still know where it is and be able to avoid it while tracking my invisible vamp.

Curious, I also try to count my steps, to see how wide my range really is. Right now he's hovering just at the edge of it, a vague kind of prickle at the nape of my neck. Somewhere off to the left. Trying not to stumble in the dark like an idiot, I walk straight for him. I  feel the tingle grow and spread, the closer I get, until finally he's less than a few feet away.

Briefly I hesitate, then, just to be sure, I reach out a hand and touch him. My fingers brush a cotton shirt. Well, at least he isn't naked.  I smile.

"Tag," I say. "Wanna try it faster?"

And he's gone again.

This time, I run.

I don't know how long we play, but it starts to be fun. Even when I screw up and run full tilt into the bed, I end up giggling madly. Mr. Gordo's soft chuckle isn't mocking, just amused. He keeps making it more difficult, moving slightly further out of my range each time, or moving away as I come toward him.

At one point he confuses me completely.

I'm standing at the foot of the bed, turning this way and that. I can feel him, right in front of me... but not. The tingles are there, powerful even though they're still somewhat muffled by the dream.

"Ooookay," I say, trying to figure it out. He's not on the bed. Under it, maybe? I drop to the floor, but the tingles fade slightly. Not there either. I stand up. I reach out a hand again and touch the foot post... then remember and tilt my head back and up. Smiling now, I grab hold of the post and haul myself up it.

Huh.

Didn't know this bed had a canopy.

He's sitting above me, and when I reach up, I accidentally grab his bare foot.

"Gah!" I say. "Zombie feet." His toes are so cold. He chuckles and growls, as if to remind me that, oh, right... dead guy. Then he vaults over my head, landing with a soft noise against the stone floor and disappears again.

We play until I'm panting. He tries the top of the bed thing a few more times, but I'm wise to his tricks now. Then he tries under the bed, but I figure that one out even faster.

The last time, however, it takes me a minute. Not on top of the bed, I realize. Definitely not on it or under it.

Crap. The tingles are so close. I can feel him, right there... but no matter where I blindly search, I can't find him. With a huff, I sit down on the mattress.

"Okay, you win this _one_ round," I say, laughing a little. "I give."

There's a sensation of movement, and then he's dropping down behind me, his hands on my shoulders, and his knees spread to either side of my hips. I jump, but he holds me in place, and I feel my heart beat pick up. His hands are cool on my shoulders, but not as icy as his feet were.

"Under the canopy," I say, feeling stupid. He had been upside down, bracing himself between the struts above my head.

He taps with one finger against my shoulder. _Yes._

"Smart aleck vampire," I say, but it's good humored. I haven't had this much fun in ages. Certainly not while 'training'.

He chuckles and moves away to his side of the bed as I crawl under the covers.

"Thank you," I tell him.

It's been a long, long time since I trusted a vampire, but something about this one makes it... not easy, but possible.

I wonder again if it's Angel.

It was possible to trust Angel. Not easy. Not at first. Not when he was all cryptic guy. And it's been a lot harder to trust him since... well... since. But there's still a bond there.

Only this doesn't feel like Angel. Just like the tingles don't feel like Spike's, they definitely don't feel like Angel's. I can't tell if that's because they aren't, or because of the muffling effect of the dream, though. Maybe if my sense weren't slightly deadened, then I'd recognize them.

Not only that, though, the vampire doesn't _feel_ like Angel. Not that I've plastered myself to him, or anything, but the few brief touches we've had-hands, feet, shoulders, shirt-haven't felt like Angel at all.

They feel... like Mr. Gordo. My weird, friendly, dream vampire.

I mumble a good night, and snuggle into my pillow, deliciously worn out.

***

Tara's birthday, at the Bronze, is totally fun. She loves all her gifts, and she and Willow dance, literally, on air. We're all trying to get to know the shy girl better.

I even see Spike, lurking in the shadows, but I leave him alone. I'm having a good night and no way do I want to deal with bleached blond, annoying vampires.

Riley on the other hand. Mmmmm.

He's late, but he brought the birthday girl a present, which is totally sweet.

I hope whatever has made him so bad moody is over. I really want my sweet, normal boyfriend back.

 


	8. Ask Me No Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> This chapter makes me a little nervous, because it's based on one of my (and I'm sure most other Spuffy fans') favorite episodes. Obviously because we're experiencing this from Buffy's POV, we're not going to get the lovely flashbacks to what actually happened, we're only going to have the word of a not-always-entirely-honest vampire. Filling in the blanks of what he might have told her was both fun and challenging, and I'm a little nervous as to how well you all will accept the results of my game of mad libs with canon dialogue. Still, this was one of the most fun chapters to write, and I hope you like it.
> 
> Disclaimer: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from the episode "Fool For Love", written by Douglas Petrie.

**Chapter 7**

**Ask Me No Questions**

 

Pain.

Hot, blinding pain.

I grip the stake in my hand and it's slippery with blood.

My blood.

Oh.

God.

My blood.

Teeth grinding, I manage to pull it out. Stuff my hand against the wound to slow the blood flow.

Blood.

Vampire.

God.

I run.

Things are a blur then. Pain. Fear.

It's been so long since I felt this that I can't process it.

Then... arms. Familiar.

Riley.

Helping me stand. Helping me home.

Only, it's too much.

And there's only black.

***

I wake up in the dream room, and the pain is still there, but muted now. Not as strong.

I can't see to check it, but when I carefully touch the wound I feel stitches and bandages. I lay very, very still.

When Mr. Gordo arrives, I tense.

He growls.

Blood. He can smell the blood.

I hear him climb on the bed, then feel him move closer. Oh, this is sooo not of the good.

"Stop," I say. He does.

"Please, please stay over there."

After a moment's hesitation, he backs up.

"I know you can smell it," I say, because it's obvious. "But I'd really, _really_ appreciate it if you'd just... try very hard to ignore it?"

There's a lengthy pause, then cool fingers brush my hair away from my forehead. It's gentle. Surprisingly gentle for a vampire. His fingers lay against my cheek for a moment.

"I'm okay," I say, because I need to believe it. "I'm going to be fine. I've had worse."

Hey, technically drowning is worse, right?

He draws back, and I feel him settle down, facing me.

It's a very long night, or at least it seems that way.

***

I must eventually fall asleep, because the next thing I know I'm waking up on my bed in my room, and Riley is checking my bandages.

It's not quite dawn yet.

"How long was I out?" I ask.

"Forty minutes," Riley says. "Figured it'd be better to let you stay unconscious while I patched you up. Think you feel well enough to get to the doctor?"

"No doctor," I say, wincing as I prod at it. "How bad is it?"

"I've seen worse, but Buffy-"

"No doctor. I'm fine. Any major organ damage?"

"Not that I could see, but-"

"No doctor." He's not happy about it, but he helps me get up and change clothes. The blood soaked ones from earlier go in a plastic bag that will later get burnt. By the time we're done, I've reopened the wound and he makes me sit back down while he pulls off the bandages and checks the stitches. It doesn't take long to disinfect it again and re-bandage it.

"I can't believe I passed out," I say as he's finishing. "Do you think I'm a total wuss now?"

He smiles wryly. Wryly. Riley. Huh.

"Oh, yeah. I like a girl who can go a few hard sets of tennis with a major stab wound," he says.

"You said it wasn't that bad!"

"I said I'd seen worse. There's a difference."

I pout and let him help me zip up my blouse.

"Well," I say, looking on the bright side. "At least no major organs got kebab-ed."

"I still think you should see a real doctor," he says. I sigh.

"That would put me in a real hospital which would get my real mom real freaked out. I can't do it," I try to explain. "Don't worry. Accelerated healing powers come with the Slayer package. And the boyfriend who comes complete with combat medical training? That's just a Buffy Summers bonus."

He's not looking convinced, but I don't need him to be. Day or two and I'll be un-holey Buffy... I mean... not with the giant stake shaped hole in me. I used to think pointy sticks were kind of lame weapons, but I'm finding I've got a newfound appreciation for them.

"So, tell me about the bad guy... or guys? What do you think they were?"

"Vampire," I say, feeling embarrassed.

"How many?"

"One." Now I'm really embarrassed, and Riley is looking really surprised.

"So... what? He was like a super-vampire or something?"

"No, he was just the regular kind. He just beat me." And how weird is that? I mean, he wasn't even that old. He'd probably died less than twenty years ago (and still had the hair to prove it). I always figured if I was going to go out at the hands of a vampire it'd be a powerful one. An old one.

The only vampires that have ever even come close to besting me were Lothos and the Master-and then only because of their mind tricks-and they're both dust. In a physical fight with no tricks, the only vampire who's ever come close to besting me before is...

...Spike.

"That ever happen before?" Riley asks, looking concerned.

"I'm in the best physical shape of my life," I say, instead of answering his question. "If you're asking how it happened, I don't know." I shake my head. I need to go talk to Giles.

There's a quick knock on the door and Mom pokes her head in just as Riley drops the bloody cotton balls out of sight.

"Buffy?" she says. "Oh, hi Riley."

"Hi, Mrs. Summers. How're you feeling?" I really have the sweetest boyfriend.

"I'm fine, bordering on chipper and tomorrow planning on being obnoxious," she smiles, which makes me feel a little better. Her headaches keep coming and going, but the doctors haven't given us any idea what's causing them.

Stupid doctors.

"Glad to hear it," Riley says.

"Buffy, when you have a minute I'd like to go over the grocery list for next week."

"You got it," I say.

She sniffs. "Are you... disinfecting something?"

"Just a scratch," I say. "No big. Still, better safe, right?"

"Right," she says, looking worried. "Just... be careful honey." She leaves, partially shutting the door behind her.

Yeah... careful.

I need to figure out where I went wrong last night. How I screwed up. Suddenly I'm thinking of all the other Slayers who came before me. All the other dead Slayers.

Maybe there's a clue there.

"I'll take patrol tonight," Riley says, interrupting my thoughts.

Wait... I'm the Slayer and if _I_ can get injured on the job, _he_ definitely can. I don't like that idea at all.

"By yourself?" I ask. He gives me the Look. The one that says he can handle himself and he doesn't need me to protect him. Hello? Did he not see the giant gaping wound in my stomach?

"Just a sweep," he promises.

"Do me a favor? Take the group along?"

I can see that he only agrees because he's worried about worrying me.

Which worries me even more.

***

I'm totally not book girl. All those big, dusty books give me a headache. But tonight I'm determined and if I have to beat the answers out of those old pages, so help me, I will.

Giles was, at first, thrilled that I wanted to read the Watcher's diaries. Until I told him why.

"Good lord," was his first response. Then there was some glasses polishing, and a few more "good lord"s and "are you sure you're quite alright?"s.

Since then we've managed to cover the entire counter of the magic shop reading up on Slayer lore. I started with everything American, he went with everything non. It was a system. Still, most of the books? Not of the helpful.

Giles is flipping through pages, looking tired. "Here's another one. Early eighteenth century Slayer..."

I shut my book and sigh. "Good. Let's hope she'll be more helpful than this last one."

"Why?" he asks, looking up. "What does it say?"

"Same as all the others. Slayer called... blah, blah... great protector... blah, blah...scary battles... blah, blah... Ooops! She's dead." I frown. "Where are the details?"

"Details? Well... it says that this Slayer forged her own weapons."

He hands the book over, but I can see at a glance it's about as useful as the last.

"Gotta love a gal with an anvil," I say dryly, trying to imagine myself making a sword. Nah. I have enough trouble whittling stakes. "But where are the details of the Slayer's last battle? You know, what made that fight special? Why did she lose?"

Giles is polishing again. "You didn't lose last night, Buffy. You just..."

"Got really close," I sigh. "I slipped up, Giles. I've been training harder than ever, even..." I catch myself before I say _'in my sleep'_. I'm still not willing to share that little bit of crazy. With a shake I continue. "There's nothing in any of these books to help me understand why. I mean, look, I realize that every Slayer comes with an expiration date on the package. But I want mine to be a loooong time from now. Like a Cheeto."

He gives me a look.

"If there were just a few good descriptions of what took out the other Slayers," I say, pretending I didn't see it, "maybe it would help me to understand my mistake, to keep it from happening again."

God, I need to keep it from happening again. I'm so not ready to die. It's totally unfair that not only do I not get a choice about this, but that it also means I have to die young. I don't think about it. I try not to think about it.

But when you're yanking a stake out of your gut it's harder not to. And maybe it's time I did.

Giles has his uncomfortable British face on. "Yes, well," he says, "the problem is after a final battle, it's difficult to get any... well, the Slayer's not... she's rather..."

"It's okay to use the D-word, Giles." Believe me. I've been thinking it non-stop.

"Dead," he says, and suddenly it sounds a lot more final. "And hence not very forthcoming."

"Why didn't the Watchers keep fuller accounts of it? The journals just stop." Aren't Watchers supposed to... you know, _watch?_

"Well, I suppose if they're anything like me, they just find the whole subject too..." he trails off, looking anywhere but at me.

"Unseemly?" I roll my eyes. "Damn. Love ya, but you Watchers are such prigs sometimes." Probably a British thing.

"Painful," he says, surprising me. "I was going to say."

Oh.

Right.

He sighs. "But you're right. Accounts of the final battles would be very helpful. But there's no one left to tell the tales... What?"

He's looking at me funny, but I barely notice.

No one left... no. There's at least one no one left, and I know just how to get him to talk.

"Spike," I say.

Giles blinks. "Oh," he says. "He... has killed at least two Slayers. But, are you sure you want to discuss the subject with Spike? It's likely to be unpleasant."

"I have to know," I say, because I do.

***

When I barge into his crypt a little while later, he's sitting in his armchair scribbling in a battered up book.

"Oi! How about knocking?" he says, glancing up. I don't give him a chance to get any further. Instead I grab him by the shoulder and slam him up against a column.

"OW!... Wait, not ow. You feeling alright, Slayer? This stuff usually hurts."

When I spin him around he's got an odd look on his face. The smirk I get, the look in his eyes, however is disturbing.

"Don't even start, Spike," I warn.

"What do you want?" he says.

"Slayers. You killed two of them."

He's suddenly on guard. Wary. "I did," he says slowly, and I can see the thought cross his mind that I'm about to deliver payback.

"You're gonna show me how," I tell him.

He pushes me off of him. "Oh, I am?" He's got that narrow eyed look now, calculating, trying to figure out how to turn this to his advantage. Whatever, I just want the information.

"You are," I say.

He smirks, reading me easily. "Say 'pretty please, Spike.'"

I roll my eyes. So not in the mood.

"What do you want, Spike?"

"Ambiance," he says. "'S not a short story. Might as well get comfy, yeah?"

***

Thirty minutes later we're sitting at a small table, tucked under the stairs at the Bronze, and he's downing his first beer. For a creature that's always running at the mouth, he can be stubbornly silent when he wants to be.

"You know, there's quite a few American beers that are highly underrated," he scowls into his mug. "This, unfortunately, isn't one of them."

That's it.

"Update, Spike. We're not here to discuss the fine choice of hops. It's about two Slayers. One in China during the Boxer Rebellion. One in New York. Both got killed by you."

I fish out a thick wad of cash. My shopping money for the next two weeks, but this is more important, and I know how to grease up Spike.

Ew.

Did I really just think that?

He tries to snatch the cash from my hand but I tuck it away before he can. He's pissed now.

"Tell the tale, you get the cash,"

"Right," he says, leaning back. "You want to learn all about how I bested the Slayers and you want to learn fast. Right then: We fought. I won. The End. Pay up." Oh, yeah. Pissed.

God he's a jerk.

"That's not what I-"

"What do you want, eh?" He interrupts. "A quick demo? A blow-for-blow description you can map out and memorize?"

Well, it would be nice...

"It's not about the moves, luv. And since I agreed to your little proposition, we can do this my way." He's got that look again. "Wings."

"What?"

He wants wings?

"Spicy buffalo wings. Order me up a plate, I'm feeling peckish."

God. He's a _vampire_. Angel never ate, but Spike is forever shoving stuff in his mouth. Maybe the inability to bite has given him an oral fixation. Would explain the nasty cigarette habit... except, no, he smoked before he was chipped.

Fine. I'll feed him, if it'll get him to talk. But it's coming out of his pay.

Only, when I turn to signal the waitress, pain erupts in my stomach. With a wince, I touch it to see if I opened it up again, forgetting...

"As I thought," Spike practically purrs. "Some nasty thing got a taste of you."

"Don't get all excited," I tell him, no longer in the mood to order anything for him. "I'm fine."

His eyes in the dim lighting are very, very dark blue and way too perceptive.

"Oh, right. Stuck in a dark corner with a creature you loathe, diggin' up past uglies... 'cause you're fine," he says.

Two way street, Spike. We both know that if it weren't for his chip, he wouldn't be here either. Goody for me, he is. Otherwise I might not get my answers.

"Just tell me what I want to know."

"I told you," he says. "No one's narrating on an empty stomach here."

"Were you born this big a pain in the ass?" His poor mother must have been a saint.

He leans in, a slow, seductive little smile playing across his face. "What can I tell you, baby? I've always been bad."

Ewww. Did I seriously just think of _Spike_ as _seductive?_ Yeeech.

"Whatever," I say, and snag the waitress as she goes by. She jots down the order and hurries off. "Satisfied?"

"Hardly," he says, leering a little and curling his tongue behind his teeth.

"Talk," I say. "Or I eat all your wings."

"Bitch," he says, but it's friendly now, more relaxed. He leans back in his chair, gets comfortable. "Fine then. It starts, as all good stories do, with a girl-"

Oh, god. "Spike-"

"Shut it, Slayer. You wanted to know, I'm telling. But I'll do it my way, and in my own time. So shut your gob, and listen."

I shut up and wait.

"As I was saying, it starts with a girl. Year was... 1880 or so, place was London. She was the daughter of family friends and I was madly in love." He raises his eyebrows at this pronouncement, as if daring me to contradict him.

"You were human then?"

"Yeah," he says. "I was human then, and stop interruptin'. She was beautiful, classy, and I was going to ask her to marry me."

The idea of Spike wanting to get married almost makes me laugh, but I hold back, not willing to lose the chance that he'll talk. The waitress deposits another beer on the table. When she wanders off, Spike starts up again.

"'Course, back then, if you wanted to get married, you had to bring somethin' to it, didn't you? Nobody just married for love. Had to have a title. Fortune. Connections. All of the above. Wasn't titled, of course. And as for fortune, whatever I had didn' even compare to what her other beaus had. No real connections to speak of, either. But I tried, because I was in love, and a bleedin' fool." He pauses and takes a swig of his beer. "She turned me down, of course. I was expectin' it, but it still hurt."

Something flashes across his face then, and I can see that he's not telling everything. God, more than a hundred years ago and he's still able to remember it that clearly? Whatever it was that actually happened, it must have cut the human William deep if the vampire still remembered it.

For a moment, I feel bad for William, whoever he was.

Then I remember that this has _nothing_ to do with two dead Slayers.

"I ran out," he says, lost in the story now. "Was furious, hurt. Thought my life was over. It was. I just didn't know it yet."

"Drusilla," I say. I know she was his sire, but I have no idea how it happened. He nods.

"Drusilla. Found me in the mews-"

"Mews?"

He waves a hand. "Sort of like an alley, ran behind townhouses, connected to the stables. Not a good place to be, after dark. I wasn't thinkin' too clear. Anyway, thought she was a pickpocket at first. Turns out she was after more than my dosh. She was beautiful and exotic, and I was... enchanted. Wanted her almost immediately, an' she wanted me. She turned me right there, in a stinking alleyway with people walking past not fifteen yards off. It hurt, for a bit, and when I couldn't see anymore, she opened up a vein in her wrist and made me drink. Never tasted anything like it, before that. It was... life. Thick and rich. Was the last thing I knew, before I died."

The wings arrive, and he flirts with the waitress while she sets the plate in front of him and fiddles with the blue cheese dip. I roll my eyes, waiting, caught up in the story despite myself. When she's gone, I prod him.

"What then?"

He makes a show of picking up a chicken wing and tearing into it with his small, white teeth that somehow always manage to look a little fangy, even though they're as blunt as mine. He chews, swallows. Licks buffalo sauce off his lips.

"Not nice to talk with your mouth full," he says, then gestures at the plate. "Tuck in, Slayer. Wouldn't hurt you to put some meat on your bones."

I'm about to argue, but my stomach growls, reminding me of how little I've eaten all day. Blushing, I pick up a wing and take a bite. It's not bad. I eat four more before I realize he's not talking.

"What then, Spike?"

He shrugs, picking up his beer and taking a long swallow, and I watch the muscles in his throat work. He sets the beer down, then smirks. "I died. Then I got better."

I snort.

He snags the last wing and strips it neatly in two bites. How he manages it without getting buffalo sauce all over his face must be one of those vampiric secrets, because I've been wiping my fingers and face on my napkin almost constantly. After he drops the bones on the plate he sucks his fingers, one by one, licking off the last of the sauce. It's one of the dirtiest things I've ever seen, and he clearly knows it's affecting me, because he repeats the performance on his other hand even slower.

"C'mon," he says, when he's finished trying to get himself punched in the face.  "Need to move."

He stands and heads for the pool tables, leaving me no choice but to follow. It's a slow night, there's no band playing tonight, so the tables are mostly empty. Just a few college kids and some high-schoolers fooling around. Spike picks up a triangle thingy and racks the balls on the table with the efficiency of a born pool-shark. Xander would be jealous.

When he tosses me a cue, I catch it easily. "Want to break, Slayer?" he asks. "Ladies first."

There's a challenge in his eyes. I've never backed down from him yet, and I'm not about to now. "Fine, but then you start singing again, Spikey."

He curls his tongue. "Could," he says, doing that growly thing again. "But then you'd have to protect me when all the women start throwing themselves at me. Want to be my bodyguard, Betty?"

What? Are we stuck back in Jonathan's delusional glory days? Then the pop-culture reference clicks. Spike thinks he can out-pop-culture _me?_

"You're a pig, _Al_." I put a little too much Slayer strength into the break, and the balls fly across the table with a loud crack. Takes a minute for them to stop ricocheting... and somehow I never manage to sink even one. So not fair.

He picks up his cue and lines up his first shot.

"So you traded up on the food chain," I say. "Then what?"

His look is disgusted. "Oh, please. Don't make it sound like something you'd flip past on the Discovery Channel. Becoming a vampire is a profound and powerful experience. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting killed made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules." He shoots, and watches the ball roll into the pocket. "Decided to make a few of my own. Of course, in order to do that... I had to get myself a gang."

"A gang?"

He shrugs, lighting a cigarette and letting it dangle from his mouth as he lines up his next shot. "Wasn't nearly as hard as it could have been. Dru and I met up with Angelus and Darla a few weeks after I rose. Couldn't do better than a trio of the most powerful vampires to ever walk the earth, now could I? I was itching for something, something bigger than me, better. Suddenly I had no one to answer to. No human law could hold me. No human could touch me. I was stronger, faster. All the power in the world in my hands and nothing to hold me back, you know? Started picking fights, wherever we went. I'd take on two, three men at a time at first, lovin' the challenge. After awhile it got easy, so I went out and found bigger fights. Almost took on a mob up in Yorkshire, 'cept Angelus was too cowardly to face them and made us all hide in a bloody mine shaft."

I wince at the name. Even now I hate thinking of him as Angelus. It brings back all the old memory, all the pain. All the ways in which I failed that year. If Spike notices it, he doesn't call me on it, for once.

"That's when I first heard about the Slayer. The Great Forehead told me all about her. One girl in all the world, chosen to fight our kind. Couldn't wrap my head around it, at first. One little girl was supposed to take on all the vampires and demons in the world? Made no soddin' sense. Then he told me that she was special. Strong. Fast. Made to be our match and then some. The perfect warrior. And the best part was, if one got killed, another rose. Like a bottomless bloody Pez dispenser."

Ugh. Good thing Spike wasn't a writer. His analogies left a lot to be desired. He should stick with pool, he'd already cleared half the table.

"After that," he says, "I was obsessed. I mean, to most vampires the Slayer was the subject of cold sweats and frightened whispers. But I never hid. Hell, I sought her out. I mean, if you're looking for fun, there's death, there's glory, and sod all else, right?" He gives a shrug. "I was young."

Fun. He thought it was _fun_ , hunting someone down for the challenge of trying to kill them? He moves around behind me where I stand at the table.

"So, how'd you kill her?" I ask.

"Funny you should ask," he says, and I realize he's still behind me. He grabs my neck and I act on instinct, bringing up the cue in my hands, ready to stake him. He catches it, his strength matching mine until we're canceling each other out.

"Lesson the first," he says. "A Slayer must always reach for her weapon." With a crunch of shifting cartilage, he slips into game face, studying me through the demon's golden eyes. "I've already got mine." He smiles, showing his fangs, reminding me that this is what he really is. Then he shakes it off, slipping that too handsome, boyish face back on with ease.

I'd never thought of it that way before. He was right. I could kill a vampire without a weapon, but it was harder. Much harder.

Spike didn't need a weapon.

A sudden flash of memory. _'Do we really need weapons for this?' I asked. The demon before me leered, sucking his teeth, his platinum blond hair glowing white under the emergency lights. I watched as he ran a hand down his torso. 'I just like them,' he said, cupping himself through his jeans. 'They make me feel all manly.'_

Oh, god. I'd been so stupid. So young. I'd tossed that axe down and went after him with my fists. If it hadn't been for mom, I'd have been dead. Spike would have killed me years ago.

He plucks the cue out of my stunned hand and releases my neck, leaving me standing there like a statue. He lines up another shot and continues as if I hadn't just realized how close I'd come to death at his hands before.

"A good thing, too. Become a vampire, you've got nothing to fear. Nothing but one girl. That's you, honey. Back then, it was her. Gotta understand, it took me awhile to track one down. Like mayflies, most Slayers. Some of you live a few years after you're called, some, only a few days. Had to keep my ears open, listen to the rumors in the demon world, follow up on them. Wasn't until Darla decided we needed a little trip to China that I got lucky. You know about the Boxer Rebellion, pet?"

I blink, trying to catch up with his words.

"Um... it happened in China? We hadn't gotten that far in my history classes before I had to drop."

"Soddin' American universities probably don't teach it anyway. Too busy gettin' a hardon over Europe to pay much attention to the rest of the world. Was a religious war, Darla's favorite kind. Chinese decided they'd had enough of the foreign missionaries and decided to kick them out. Called them 'foreign demons'... and they weren't wrong. Not just missionaries were taking advantage of all the Eastern travel back then. Lots of demons looking for new feeding grounds had gone over. Europe and the Americas were industrializing, science was winning out over superstition. China was the bloody promised land: lots of people, not a lot of crosses. The Boxers were Chinese fighters, martial arts experts."

"Why were they called Boxers?" I ask, interested again in spite of myself. I'd really liked history in school, but I'd always suspected that the textbooks didn't know the whole truth. Here was Spike, with the truth, and it was fascinating.

"Because the English have a superiority complex, and have to impose their ideas on the rest of the world," he says dryly, perching on the edge of the table to light another cigarette. "In Merry Old, a man who fought with his fists was a pugilist. A boxer. Since the Chinese fought with their fists, and the British missionaries wouldn't dirty their ears by speaking anything but God's tongue, their fighters were called boxers, too."

"Hello, Spike, _you're_ British," I point out.

"Bloody hell, Slayer," he mocks. "How'd you guess? I'm a vampire, too, pet, and clearly more intelligent than you gits ever bother to give me credit for. Makes my perspective a bit different, don't it?"

"Whatever," I say. He gestures at the table and the game I've forgotten to follow. With a sigh, I drop in a couple of balls, then miss my third. "Okay, so lots of fighting, Chinese rebelling, missionaries fleeing, demons everywhere. That about sum it up?"

"You're missing the point," he says. "Slayers go where the demons are, and there were a lot of demons in China back then-not to mention a lot of Chinese fighting them. Including one little girl who'd become something of a  legend in her village. Didn't take too long to find her, once we were there. The war got there first, though. Half the city was on fire, and the other half was in a rush. Hurrying to live, hurrying to die, and there she was in the middle of it, like this calm in the eye of the storm. Tiny, of course. For some reason most Slayers are. Delicate. Pretty as a bird."

His eyes get a far away look.

"Didn't know what to expect, did I? Thought I'd just walk in and the fists would start flying. I was wrong. She danced. Had this sword, long and shiny and blessed. The way she moved with it... poetry. I was young, like I said. Was used to European styles of fighting, all fists. She fought with her whole body, with that sword as an extension of her little arm, moving so fast I could barely follow it. Still... I was good. Fighting her was a rush. I landed a few hits, she landed a few more. Cut me with that bloody sword only once."

He touches his left eyebrow, and the scar there. God... that's been healing for over a hundred years? I think I need to find myself a blessed sword.

"Thought she had me, at one point, 'til I got the sword off her. She was still good, but I could tell she relied on it. Without it, she was crippled. She went for her stake, managed to pin me up against a column, but an explosion outside broke us apart. She lost her stake, went after it... and I grabbed her. Sank my fangs in and drank deep."

He groans a little at the memory, and I realize that he's turned on by it. Oh, ewwww.

"That's when I found out what Slayer blood is. Fuckin' ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods. An aphrodisiac, and I was high off it. Dru found me just after that. Impressed her, it did, my killing a Slayer. Shagged her rotten right there in the temple, while the city burned around us... That was the best night of my life. And I've had some sweet ones."

He finally glances over at me.

"What are you looking at?" he says.

"You got off on it," I say, disgusted.

"Well, yeah," he says, as if that should be obvious. "I suppose you're telling me you don't?"

I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, even though somewhere in the back of my head Faith is whispering _'Isn't it crazy how slaying just always makes you hungry and horny?'_ I tell her to shut up.

"How many of my kind you reckon you've done?" Spike asks.

"Not enough," I tell him. It'll never be enough. Especially as long as he's still around. He nods, smirking, stalking toward me.

"And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the armies of Hell besides, and all we need is for one of us-just one-sooner or later, to have the thing we're all hoping for."

He pauses, inches away. He's so close, but I'm not going to back down. The tingles are electrifying now, his power washing over me, making the hair all over my body stand on end.

"And that would be?" I manage somehow.

He leans in close, cold breath washing against my ear and sending shivers down my spine. When he speaks, his voice is low, rough, gravely and wicked.

"One. Good. Day."

UGH! I push him away, furious to find him laughing at me. It's too easy for him to get under my skin.

"Hey," he says. "You asked, and I'm tellin'. The problem with you, Summers, is you've gotten so good, you're startin' to think you're immortal."

"Not really," I assure him. "I just know I can handle myself."

"Oh," he says, stepping up again. "How do you explain this?" Before I realize what he's about to do, he's dug his hand into my stomach, jabbing the wound there hard enough that I cry out in pain. It's not much consolation when his chip fires and he roars, reeling back and clutching at his head.

For a moment we just stand there, panting and staring each other down. Then we realize everyone's staring. That's right, everyone stare at the freak couple maiming each other at the pool tables. Spike shoots them a glare that quickly has people turning back around.

"So that's it? Lesson over?" I ask, trying not to gasp.

"Not even close," he says, grabbing a pool cue and heading for the alley out back. "Come on."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike references the song "Call Me Al" by Paul Simon. I've always thought this song was uniquely suited to him, and several years ago, after reading this story, someone apparently agreed with me.
> 
> [ "Call Me Al" Spike fan vid on youtube](https://youtu.be/UiKTKuxhfS4) by SpuffyIsTheNewBangel


	9. I'll Tell You No Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimer: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from the episode "Fool For Love", written by Douglas Petrie.

 

It seems somehow appropriate that we're doing this here, where we first met. Who knows? Maybe when he's finished I'll stake him and we can end it here, too. He's toying with me, enjoying having something to hold over me and it's pissing me off. Stupid smug vampire.

I try to tell myself that if this were Angel, he'd tell me straight what I wanted to know, without all this dancing around. I try to ignore the voice in my head that says that Angel never would have been willing to answer my questions in the first place.

"Give it to me," I tell him, the minute I'm sure we're alone. That's when I realize he's a little pissed.

He reaches for me, and it's easy enough to avoid it. I slam him up against the fence by the throat, he just grins and laughs.

"What?" I demand, narrowing my eyes. What's so funny?

"Lesson the second: ask the right questions. You want to know how I beat 'em?" he says. I release him and he steps forward, his eyes intense and predatory. "The question isn't 'how'd I win?'. The question is: 'why'd they lose?'."

"What's the difference?" I ask. Because really, doesn't it boil down to the same thing?

Abruptly he swings the pool cue, then jabs it at my throat, stopping it bare inches away. I manage not to flinch.

"There's a big difference, luv," he says. I kick the cue out of his hands. He lets me.

"How'd you kill the second one?" I ask, my body tense and itching for a fight. He's ready to give it to me.

"Hmmm? Bit like this...", he swings at me, but I dodge each one, then narrow my eyes.

"That didn't hurt?" I ask. Why didn't his chip fire?

"Knew I couldn't touch you," he shrugs. "If there's no intent to hurt you, then that chip they shoved up my brain never activates. If, on the other hand..."

He slips into game face and lunges, then roars in pain as the chip yanks him up short, like a rabid dog on the end of a chain. He grimaces, pressing his hands to his head. "Now, _that_ hurt."

I don't want to admit that I was nervous there for a second. "Yeah? This hurt too?" I punch him in the stomach, then kick his legs out from under him. He wants a one-sided fight? I'll give him one. "How'd you kill them, Spike?"

He tries to get up, but I'm faster, pinning him and pressing a stake over his heart before he can really get his feet under him. I can feel him beneath me, his muscles tensed to throw me off. Instead, one strong, cool hand wraps around my wrist, pushing the stake away. I push back, willing the tip to touch the fabric of his stupid black shirt. But, in this position, we're equally strong. The stake almost vibrates from the pressure between us.

Stalemate.

"You're not ready to know," he grunts, somehow managing to leer in spite of his position.

"I'm ready," I tell him, flattening my other palm against the hard wall of his chest. He smirks, and I know what he's going to do.

"Okay then," he says. "Went like this." With a quick buck of his hips, he flips me off of him. I roll and come up on my feet, facing off. He jabs at me, and I can tell this time that he's intentionally missing, but I duck anyway. I, however, don't bother to pull my punches. Spike likes pain? Good, because I'm more than happy to dish it out to him. After a minute or so, I realize that he's leading me into certain moves, moving in certain ways. The alleyway is narrow, but he's keeping the fight narrower still, almost like it's choreographed and it takes me another minute to figure out why.

The second Slayer. This was her fight, and he's walking me through it, step by morbid step.

"The first," he says eventually, grinning like a maniac, "was all business. But the second, she had a touch of your style." He throws several punches, all of which I duck or dodge. He lets me grab him and throw him across the alley. "She was cunning, resourceful...oh, did I mention? Hot." Kick, punch, kick. I slam him against the fence again. "I could have danced all night with that one."

"You think we're dancing?" I ask, incredulous, even if I recognize the similarities.

"That's all we've ever done," he tells me, moving away and scooping up the pool cue. "And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop." He swings the pool cue like a quarterstaff, position nine, hand raised to protect his face...but his expression is playful, sly.

"Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you," he says, his voice deepening. "Is today the day I die?"

He swings the cue and I block it, pissed now. How can he possibly know what I think? How _dare_ he make assumptions like that?

Even if they are a little true.

"Death is on your heels, baby," he purrs. "And sooner or later, it's gonna catch you." He brings the pool stick down again, but this time I catch it and slam it into his smug face. It goes flying, out of reach. He just grins, panting and looking like he's having the time of his unlife. "And part of you wants it...not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it."

There's something in his eyes...a dare? A challenge?

Asshole. Bastard. I hit him as hard as I can, knocking him to the ground. From there it's easy to straddle him again, reaching for my stake. Then we're back where we were, a vicious, reverse tug of war. He throws me off of him and I roll to my feet, ready for whatever he's going to throw at me next. My adrenaline is pumping, my heartbeat pounding in my chest, my skin flushed and too tight. I'm hot and panting, and if I've reopened the wound in my stomach I can't even feel it. Every single one of my senses is focused on Spike, ready for his attack, braced for it.

But he doesn't attack. Instead he kneels before me, calmly, gazing up at me, his head cocked to the side, his eyes intense.

"Death is your art," he says quietly. In the sudden stillness of the alley, his low voice feels like it's surrounding me. Like a spell. "You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: what's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, _that's_ the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land," he regards me with something akin to pity, and I hate it in his eyes. "Every Slayer has a death wish...Even you."

I feel the words like a punch to the stomach. I swallow, trying not to let him see how he's gutting me right now. Trying not to let him smell the fear that's choking me up.

God. What if he's right?

He gets to his feet, straightens his coat across his shoulders. His eyes are so dark.

"The only reason you've lasted as long as you have," he continues, "is you've got ties to the world. Your mum, Watcher, the Scoobies. They all tie you here. But you're just putting off the inevitable."

Oh, God. I can't listen to this. I can't. It's true...too true on some level. Why is it that it's Spike who can see straight through me? Why is it always Spike?

"Sooner or later," he says. "You're gonna want it. And the second-" he moves so fast I don't realize it until he's inches away, slapping his hands together in front of my face and making me flinch. "The second that happens...You know I'll be there. I'll slip in...have myself a real good day."

Our eyes meet, and if eyes are supposed to be the windows to the soul, I don't know what darkness it is I'm peering into. It should be empty, but there's so much there, so much raging behind his eyes, and it leaves me furious and confused.

"Here endeth the lesson," he says, smugly. "I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."

I can't do this anymore. Can't look at him anymore. Can't listen to ...this. It hurts too much, stings too close to home.

"Get out of my sight," I tell him. "Now."

He just grins. "Oh, did I scare you? You're the Slayer, do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to."

"I mean it," I tell him, because I do want to hit him. I want to pound his face bloody, destroy those eyes that see too much, tear out that tongue that can speak such painful things. And that scares me. I don't think I've ever been so angry in my entire life.

"So do I," he says, and there's something different in his eyes now, in his expression. "Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!"

I clench my hands into fists, holding back. If I punch him, whatever this monster is that's been growing in me all night is going to lash out. It'll destroy him.

He did what I asked. Is it his fault that I don't like the answers?

"Spike..." I begin, but his face changes. His lashes dip, his lips part and I have the sudden crazy idea that he's about to kiss me.

I step back, scared.

"What the hell are you doing?"

With surprising strength he takes me by the arms, his voice rough and seductive.

"Come on. I can feel it, Slayer," he says. "You know you want to dance."

And god help me, I do. I want to fight him. I want to kill him. And I want to...

No. Not that. I won't want that.

I have to get out of here.

"Say it's true," I tell him. "Say I do want to."

With a hard shove I push him away. He stumbles, surprised as he hits the ground, staring up at me in shock.

"It wouldn't be you, Spike," I lie. "It would _never_ be you."

I won't give him that satisfaction. Won't let him know he's right. He's a monster, a soulless, evil thing. In his eyes, I can see my own ending-not at the end of my own stake, or the ruthless hands of some slimy demon, not a filthy puddle in a dark cavern. Someday, when I'm done, he'll be there, waiting for me...and I hate that there's a morbid sort of comfort in that.

I dig out the cash I promised him and toss it, uncaring when it scatters. Spike lays there, sprawled at my feet and I suddenly want to hurt him. Hurt him as badly as he hurt me. When the words come, I'm not even sure where they came from, but they seem...appropriate.

"You're beneath me," I tell him, and turn and walk away.

From behind me, I hear him make a noise. A harsh, quick indrawn breath that he lets out like a sob.

I don't turn around.

I don't dare.

***

The walk home is painful.

The wound in my stomach hurts, but I don't think I reopened it.

The wounds Spike left in me with his words hurt even worse.

I don't have a death wish...do I?

I want to live, like I told Giles. I want to live a long time. I didn't ask to be the Slayer, didn't want it-but now that I have it I'm not sure I'd want to give it up. Been there, tried that...didn't work. And yes, I know that means that every day that I wake up there's a chance I might die, but I didn't really believe that before. Not ‘til now.

It's not that I thought I was immortal. What I told Spike was true, I thought I could handle myself. Lately the fights have been easy, with the exception of my invisible friends. And Eddie Van Hairdo last night.

He's wrong. Spike is wrong.

I don't have a death wish. I'm going to live. I'm going to live as long as I possibly can, if for no other reason than to spite him.

I got careless. Sloppy.

I'll train harder, be better. Be the best Slayer that ever lived...

It's Spike who has the death wish. Not me. He ever tries that again, and I will stake him. Chip or no chip.

***

When I get in, I go to the kitchen and open the fridge, staring into it for a bit, blindly. Then I remember the grocery list.

I can do that. Simple. Mundane. The kind of thing that proves I'm living and planning to be for a while yet. I grab the list off the fridge door and start jotting things down.

Later, when I go upstairs, I notice mom's light is still on. It's late, but not that late...still, she should be resting. Instead she's...packing?

"Hey, I finished that grocery list for you," I say, sinking down on the bed.

"Oh, great. Thanks honey," she says, looking distracted.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine," she says. "Have you seen my conditioner?" I frown.

"Have you looked under the sink?" She always keeps a spare bottle there. When she comes back in with the bottle, I ask, "Where are you going?"

She pauses. "Oh, I was hoping to put this off but...you know the nothing I've been dealing with for the past couple of weeks? Well, it might not be nothing."

Oh...god. Could this day get worse? Please, don't answer that. I know: Hellmouth. You don't say stuff like that out loud.

"What is it?" I ask, scared all over again.

"I'm staying overnight at the hospital for observation. I'm getting a CAT scan."

Worse. Definitely worse.

"It's only one night, and they say if there is something, it's still very early if they didn't catch it before. I'm going to be fine," she says, trying to reassure me, but I can tell she's really trying to reassure herself.

Okay. I can do this. Breathe. Smile for mom. Don't break down now. I'm the Slayer. I can do this.

"I know you will," I say, and wish I could believe it.

***

Once she goes to bed, I put on a jacket and go out on the back porch.

It's quiet here, and I desperately need quiet. Today has been...God, today has been a rollercoaster and I'm still reeling.

The thing with Spike, with the stake...I push it away. Right now all I can think about is Mom. Will she be okay? What if it's...No, I won't even think about that.

I hate to cry, but the tears are there. It's just been such a long, horrible day. With a sob, I bury my head in my hands. At least here I can break down a little, with no one watching.

I'm so tired. All I want is to not have to be strong. Not have to deal with this anymore.

It's the tingles that alert me, but I don't care. Spike, somewhere close and coming closer. It's only when I hear an odd noise that I finally look up.

He's standing only a few feet away, hair gleaming white in the moonlight, a rifle cocked and ready in his hands.

Suddenly all I can think is...he was right. He's there...waiting. And at the moment, I don't really care.

"What do you want now?" I ask, but I think I'm asking what's taking him so long. His head cocks to the side, the furious, determined glint in his eyes fading, replaced by something else. Something unsure. Uncertain.

I turn away, unable to meet that gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and now I have to look at him, this vampire who has wanted me dead from the moment I met him; who is standing there with a gun in his hands while I'm making no move to defend myself and asking me what's wrong as if he cares.

I don't know what to say. Don't know what to do. I could list everything that's wrong in my life right now and it would take ‘til dawn. "I don't want to talk about it," I say.

He lowers the gun.

"Is...is there something I can do?" he asks.

It crosses my mind then: I know why a Slayer might have a death wish. It's so much. Too much, sometimes. Having to be this strong, having to worry about...saving the world, and fighting demons and somehow at the same time you have to have this life, full of people and normal worries and cares. And you have to do it alone, always alone, even when there are people there beside you.

Spike said that the reason I'm still here is because of my family, friends. But most Slayers don't have that. I know, I read all those Watcher journals. They were really big on that lone Slayer crap before me. But sometimes it feels like more of a burden, having so many people to look out for, care for.

We like to say that we ‘save the world', a lot. But for me the world has faces, names: Mom, Xander, Willow, Giles, Riley, Tara, Anya...I fight to save them, so that they can have a world to live in. So that they can be safe. But it means that when one of them is hurt, I hurt. When they bleed, I bleed. When one of them is sick...

It makes you tired. It makes you wonder how bad it would be to just pass on the burden, to lay down your stake or whatever and let the next girl do it. If I were truly alone...I can see how a Slayer might look into Spike's face and see death, not as something to fear or fight, but as a friend.

I don't want to die. Not really. There's too much I have to live for, and my mom needs me right now. Needs me to be strong. But I'm so incredibly tired. Today has just hurt so much-and not just in the painful abdominal wounds sort of way. If Spike wanted to take his chances and try to kill me right now, I'm not sure I'd have the energy or strength to fight him off. But he doesn't seem like it's even crossed his mind that he could. That this is his chance, his moment to slip in.

Instead he steps forward and sits beside me, puts the gun away. For a moment, I feel his eyes on me. Then slowly, as if he's afraid to or uncertain how to do it, he gently pats my back.

It's all I can do not to burst into tears then.

Comfort, from the one creature in this world that shouldn't give it. This mockery of compassion from something that loathes me. That I'm sworn to kill.

He withdraws his hands and folds them in front of him. We both look down.

For once, Spike doesn't speak. Doesn't talk. Doesn't prod the wound to see how much he can make me bleed. For once, he's still, silent and listening.

And I realize that it's not just this once. He sees me. Sees through me. Understands me better than any of my friends, than Giles, even better than my mom, sometimes. It doesn't seem to matter, right now, that we're mortal enemies. Right now he's there, not pushing, not asking me to be anything or do anything.

Out of nowhere the thought comes: he respects me.

"It's my mom," I whisper finally. "She's...sick. She collapsed a few weeks ago at work and...they've run all these tests, but they don't seem to know what's wrong." I wait for him to make a comment, something snarky and rude. He doesn't. He just listens, watching me quietly, his expression patient. "And tonight...she told me she's going in for a CAT scan. You know what that is?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I know what it is."

"It means...it means there might be something. Means...it means it might be bad," I say. I can't say the word. Won't say it. If you say it, it makes it real.

"I don't know what to do," I say finally, spreading my hands helplessly. "This isn't something I can fight. It's not something I can rescue her from. God...do you have any idea what that's like? To be so helpless while someone you love is..."

"Yeah," he says, very, very softly. "I do."

I look at him, surprised. He swallows, starts to say something, then thinks better of it. I want to ask him who. I want to ask him when, but the look on his face stops me. I can see it in his face: pain, helplessness. Enough to make me think he does know, that he gets exactly how I'm feeling right now.

Somehow...that's enough.

***

We sit, silent, for a long time, until I'm too tired to stay awake anymore. When I finally stand, Spike does, too.

"Buffy," he says, then stops.

"Spike," I say. "Lets...lets just not right now, okay? I'm tired and I just want to go to bed."

He nods, his jaw working. "Right," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Sweet dreams then, Slayer."

I laugh softly. If he only knew. Then I can't help but wonder...

"Spike?"

He's halfway down the stairs now, but he stops, turns back.

"Ah...Do you...Do you know a Mr. Gordo?"

He blinks at me, as if he can't decide if I'm insane or just exhausted.

"Your stuffed piggie?" he says, one eyebrow raised. "Can't say as I've ever been properly introduced."

I roll my eyes. "No...wait. How do you know Mr. Gordo is a pig?"

He gets a strange look on his face, and I realize that if vampires could blush, he would be. "Ah...remember Red's little spell last year? The...um..."

Oh...Oh! Crap.

"We talked about Mr. Gordo?"

"Not in any context you'd care to remember, pet," he says, and then I'm flashing back to a conversation about me moving into his crypt and the things I'd want to bring...Now I'm really blushing.

"Never mind."

"Why'd you ask?" he tilts his head, openly curious.

I shake my head, too embarrassed now to continue. "Not important. Just...nevermind."

He looks as though he wants to say something, then decides not to. "Get some sleep, luv," he says, shaking his head as if he thinks I'm nuts. He turns to go.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever bring that rifle back to my house-"

"And you'll stake me. Yeah, yeah. It's gone. Don't even know why I have it anyway. Go to sleep, Slayer. Can go back to hating me in the morning." With a wave that's nearly a salute, he's gone, disappearing into the shadows silently and leaving me wondering if I can.

Go back to hating him.

I wonder when I stopped.

***

It takes Mr. Gordo awhile to show up. When he does, it's the same as always. He approaches the bed slowly, warily, and climbs in on his side.

I spent the time between falling asleep and his arrival doing some thinking, remembering our game the other night and thinking over what happened last night. And some of the things Spike said.

When Mr. Gordo settles in, I take a deep breath.

"I almost died, last night," I say. "There was a vampire...big, stinky Van Halen reject vampire. He got me with my own stake. Stabbed me with it. If it hadn't been for my boyfriend...I'd probably be dead."

There's no response from the other side of the bed.

I have a thought.

"You're not him, are you? Van Halen guy?"

_NO._ The tap is emphatic. Okay. That's...good. Definitely of the good.

"Then tonight...this really annoying vampire that I know, he told me about the two Slayers he killed. And it scared me. A lot. Because...I think he might be sort of right. Not about me having a death wish, because I _totally_ don't. But...about me thinking I'm so good I'm immortal. I mean, not that I think I'm actually, you know, immortal-but maybe I got a little...overconfident."

I wait, but he doesn't move, or respond. Okay...probably not Spike then. Spike would have responded to that, wouldn't he? I can't imagine ever telling him that he's right and him _not_ taking the opportunity to rub it in my face.

"So...I know this is weird. This whole dream thing...it's weird. But I don't think you're going to kill me, and I'm not going to kill you. So, if you wouldn't mind, maybe we could...spar? Together? Sometimes? I mean, not right now when I'm all ...leaky, cause that would probably be bad for both of us. But I heal really quick so..."

Still no response, which makes me nervous. Which then makes me babble more.

"It's just, with the hide and seek thing the other night, and the invisible demon guys I had to fight I thought, maybe it would help me if I trained in the dark, you know? Without relying so much on the whole seeing thing. ‘Cause last night, that totally wasn't working. And if I could get faster, follow my instincts better, then maybe I can liv-"

A cool hand touches my shoulder. Strokes it soothingly, if a bit hesitantly. I hadn't even felt him move, but I know he's right beside me now, and suddenly, all the tears from earlier that I'd held back come pouring out.

"Oh, god," I say, and sob into my hands.

His hands come up and stroke my arms gently, rubbing little circles against the skin. Then he carefully gathers me up and settles me beside him, tucking my face against his chest as I sob brokenly. It feels...god it feels good. The arms around me are cool, but strong, and under the thin t-shirt, he's solid and unyielding. It's kind of like how Angel used to feel, but he's not as big as Angel. He fits around me better.

And it feels so good to let go, to let someone else be strong for a little while. Here I don't have to worry about being brave for my mom, or the hero for my friends, or a leader, or a good pupil. I don't have to worry that I'm being judged and found wanting, or that he's going to stab at me with his words.

Here I'm still the Slayer, but I'm Buffy, too.

I cry until I'm out of tears. While he rubs soothing patterns against my back and hair, I cry for my mom and how worried I am about her, and Riley and how distant he feels. I cry out all the fear from the other night, and the anger from my confrontation with Spike.

When I'm done, I'm exhausted, but I feel better. I wipe my hands across my face and push my hair back.

"Thanks," I say. "It's just been a really bad day. I guess I needed that."

I pull back, staring hard into the darkness, knowing he's only a few inches away and wishing suddenly that I could see his face. I want to know what he's thinking. Want to know what he looks like.

He catches my wrist before I even realize that I've reached up to try to touch his face.

_No,_ he taps gently against my wrist.

"Sorry," I say. Reluctantly I scoot back to my spot on the bed. He slips away to his. Whatever boundary we've crossed tonight seems to have been a temporary thing and we're both more comfortable when we're on our own sides.

"About the sparring...," I start to say.

_Yes._ He taps against the post.

"Okay," I say. "I'll...I'll let you know when I'm healed up, then, and...we can try it."

I settle back against my pillow and snuggle under the blankets, worn out.

"Thanks," I say softly. A soft tap is his only response. It sounds like _‘you're welcome.'_

 


	10. Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Goblindae
> 
> Disclaimer: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from the episode "Shadow" by David Fury.

 

In the morning I think, it has to be a dream. Vampires and crying Slayers? Definitely non-mixy. I'm not sure _why_ I'm dreaming about impossibly nice vampires, but I figure it's probably some leftover Angel thing. I don't think about him as much as I used to, but I can't help but miss him, sometimes.

Mom and I head over to the hospital, and I call Willow who promises to meet me there. Right now I definitely need my best friend. When they wheel mom into the exam room, I pace nervously until Willow and Tara arrive.

"How're you doing?" Willow asks.

"I'm..." holding up? Okay? Not good? Ready for another breakdown and could someone please put me to sleep so I can go cry all over a dream vampire? "Hanging in there," I say finally. "They're taking her in for a CAT scan."

It occurs to me, as I say it, that I'm not really sure what a CAT scan is. Just that they x-ray your brain with it. Kinda wish I'd asked Spike, last night, when he said he knew what one was. He'd have told me. He probably would have gone into gory detail about it, if only to wig me out, but he'd have told me. And then I wouldn't be nervous and wondering.

"She'll be okay," Willow says. She has her reassuring face on. "It's just to look, right?"

"Right," I say. They're just... looking. It'll be okay.

It seems like we're waiting for hours, and maybe we are. When Riley comes in I barely register it until he's standing right in front of me.

"Hey," he says. "Sorry... I heard. I thought maybe you might... need..."

He heard? I can't even remember who I told but maybe Willow told Xander and... it doesn't matter right now. I'm just happy he's here, that he's worried about my mom, too. "I do," I say, folding myself in his arms. "I do... I'm glad. I just, I didn't want...I mean, until we knew what it was..."

If you don't say it out loud, it's not real.

"I understand," he says, but it doesn't sound convincing. It sounds a little... angry? Why would he be angry? I just didn't want to upset anyone, in case it turns out to be nothing.

Please, let it be nothing.

"How's she doing?" he asks, and I'm grateful for the subject change.

"Well, she had a CAT scan. I was just about to go in and find out. Um... Willow and Tara are over in the waiting area, would you mind... letting them know and... I kinda need to..." _do this on my own,_ I think. If I let him in with me, I'll lean on him, and then I'll break down. I can't do that right now. Right now I have to do the strong thing, for Mom. Thankfully he seems to get it.

"Yeah," he says, stepping back. "You got it."

When he leaves, I brace myself, and go in. The room is dark, mom and the doctor are standing in front of some X-ray images stuck on the wall. They're black and white, and if they were framed and on the wall in my mom's gallery they might look like some kind of crazy abstract art. In here they just look kinda obscene: the secrets of my mom's brain on display. It's wrong.

"May I come in?" I ask, quietly.

"Oh, of course, baby, come in," Mom says, reaching for me. I give her a hug, breathing in Mom-scent, trying to convince myself that it'll be okay. Then I steel my spine, ready for the worst. I hope.

The doctor excuses himself, saying something about the OR.

"The OR?"

Mom looks uncomfortable, and scared. A shiver of fear goes down my back. "Dr. Issacs says I'm lucky there's one available on such short notice. Some people wait for days, sometimes weeks."

I stifle the shiver before she can see it.

"Mom," I ask, around the lump in my throat. "What-what did they find?"

"A shadow," she says, her eyes looking haunted. "I've got a shadow. Somewhere... over there. He showed it to me but, um... they have to do a biopsy to find out exactly what it is."

I glance over at the x-rays again, trying to see what she sees, but they're all just a jumble of black and white and gray.

A shadow...

It should be creepy and sinister, I think. It should come to life, oozing across the images and out onto the floor where I can fight it, where I can slay it. But the x-rays just hang there, like a strange kind of puzzle whose pattern I can't quite figure out.

I hug my mom tight, careful not to bruise her. I want to hug her with all my strength, hold on to her so tightly that I never have to let go. I can't.

"Doctor says it's too early to be concerned," mom says, but she's wrong. I live on the Hellmouth. It's _never_ too early to be concerned.

"Right," I say. "No concern."

"Just a shadow," she says.

How do you fight a shadow?

***

The waiting is the worst part. The pacing. The cups of coffee I don't want to drink. The way Riley keeps looking at me as if he thinks I should _do_ something, even if that something is the one thing I can't do right now: cry. I can't afford to break down. Willow and Tara have been great, mostly just by being there. I mean, I need to be strong, but I don't really want to be alone either, you know? They keep Riley company while I pace and worry, and, later, when I glance over at them they seem to be involved in a pretty deep discussion. Every now and then Riley's eyes follow me, and they look sadder and sadder.

He pities me. I don't want pity. I want... I just want him to _be_ there.

When I finally sit down he comes to sit with me, wrapping his arm around me and letting me put my head on his shoulder. For a few minutes I just let myself rest, feeling like I'm taking a breather in the middle of a fight.

When the doctor comes back out, I'm ready for round two.

I get up and go to speak with him.

"Let's sit down over here for a minute," the doctor says. Doctor speak for 'I've got bad news.'

"No!" I say, maybe a little too loudly. He winces, like he's getting a headache himself. I lower my voice. "Excuse me, no. I... I don't mean to be rude, I just, I've been sitting for hours. I don't wanna sit. I just... tell me, please."

The doctor's eyes are kind and tired. Not good.

"Your mother has... the term is low-grade glioma. It's a brain tumor. The clinical name is oligodendroglioma. It's in the left hemisphere of the cerebrum. In your mother's case the tumor seems to have started there. In other words, it hasn't spread from another part of the body..."

His words start to fade out, replaced by someone in the back of my head chanting _ohgodohgodohgod_ over and over again.

A brain tumor.

My mother has a brain tumor.

Cancer.

The thing I didn't want to say because it might be real? It's real. And it's here now, eating up all the air and space in the room like a giant invisible elephant.

And I don't know what to do.

The doctor's mouth keeps moving but I can't follow his words. He might as well be speaking another language. Finally, something comes through.

"...I know this is very difficult," he says, "and, uh, because of the nature of your mother's illness... unfortunately, things may progress very quickly."

"Things?" I ask, confused. "What things?"

"Symptoms," he says. "There's a fair variety that might present. Loss of vision or appetite, lack of muscle control, uh mood swings..."

I don't care. All I care about is stopping it.

"But what can we do?" I ask.

"Well," he says. "Not much, until we determine if the tumor is operable. Which we are working on." He says this like I might think they're slacking on the job. Slowly he leads me to a chair and I sink into it automatically.

"Is there something I... I mean... can I help?" Inanely my brain insists that repeating Spike's words means things are really bad.

"Well, there's some literature you might want to look at," he says. Research? He wants me to research? Aren't doctors supposed to have done all that already? How can _I_ help with that? I'm only a college sophomore who doesn't even have a real major. "If we aren't able to go in surgically, there are a number of new treatments that are very promising. Your mother's prognosis is a lot better today than it would have been only a year ago. Even if the tumor's not operable she has a real chance."

I really don't like the sound of that.

"What's a real chance?" I ask, even though I don't want to know the answer.

"Nearly one out of three patients with this condition does just fine," he says reassuringly.

Yeah. I really didn't want to know that. It's not reassuring at all.

"Now, let me ask...Does your mother's insurance company require copies of the MRI and pathology reports?"

I frown. Insurance... I don't know. I... I've never even thought about insurance or... Mom handles that stuff. Suddenly I'm tuning out again, thinking of all the things mom handles, every day. Stuff I don't know anything about. Insurance, and bills, groceries, taxes... who... who's going to do that stuff? Me? I can't even _drive_ and I'm...

I can do this. I can. I just have to...

Mom. I just have to get Mom better.

He starts to ask me more questions, but every one just makes me feel more and more lost. What do cell phones have to do with anything or.. chemical plants? Or...

We live on a _Hellmouth_ for heaven's sake. How much more bad influency can you get?

Wait a minute.

Hellmouth.

We live on a _Hellmouth_.

By the time he excuses himself, I can tell he's irritated with me. I don't blame him. I've never felt so clueless in my entire life, and that's counting all of high school as one big no-clue-apalooza.

When I check with the nurse she tells me my mom's going to be sleeping for another six or seven hours. I've got to do something. Sitting here is killing me. Six or seven hours of sitting is time that I could be spending in better ways, trying to find a cure.

"Buffy," Riley says, putting his hand on my shoulder. I turn to him, too restless for a hug.

"It's bad," I tell him, because I have to tell him something.

"I know," he says, only he doesn't because how could he? I can't stay here... I have to... I have to do something. Try something.

"Will you... will you stay and keep an eye on her?" I ask. "I... I need to do something. Just, if she wakes up, call me?"

"Yeah," he says, looking serious and sad, that little bit of pity back in his eyes. "I can do that."

"Okay," I say, and go to find Willow and Tara. I need to go to the Magic Box.

When fists don't work, it's time to break out the magic.

***

Giles is being a fat lot of no help.

"The truth is, uh... the mystical and the medical aren't meant to mix, Buffy. Sorry, um... the human mind is very delicate. Too much can go wrong," he says.

But there has to be... I mean, it's magic. Magic is supposed to do the impossible, right?

Tara's determined not to help either. "Yeah, I've heard stories about people trying healing spells... if we did something, it could make things a lot worse, Buffy." At least she manages to look apologetic.

Great. The one time I'm sure magic is the answer? Totally not.

I know that they aren't saying no to hurt me. I know if they say that it's a bad idea, it probably is. But that only makes it worse, because it means that there really isn't anything I can do.

We talk about other things then. Inane things. Every day things. Things that don't involve the words _cancer_ or _tumor_ or _inoperable_ because those are impossible words that have no solution. Instead we talk about _vampires_ and _demons_ and _supernatural activity_ because those things can be fixed.

I'd welcome a Big Bad right about now, if for no other reason than to make me feel more useful or give me something I could do. But it's been quiet, the last few months. Just your usual run of vamps and minor demons.

Nothing nearly major enough to keep me from worrying about Mom.

I try to remember if we had a Big Bad last year this time. It takes a minute or two to work out the date.

It's almost Thanksgiving.

Last year I was... fighting off Native American vengeance spirits, and I was freaking out over the peas. Spike was knocking at the door, starving and looking like a sun-broiled ghost in a tattered blanket. Riley was a barely acknowledged blip on the horizon and Angel was poking his nose in where it wasn't needed. We'd barely even heard of the Initiative. All I'd wanted last year was a perfect Thanksgiving.

I don't even have a turkey this year.

I don't want a turkey.

I want my Mom to be okay.

When Riley shows up looking for me, I'm worried. Why isn't he with Mom, like I asked?

"It's fine," he says, reading the worry on my face. "I'd have called if there were something wrong. I just... wanted to check if you were okay. See if you needed anything?"

"I'm alright," I say. I'd be happier if he'd stayed at the hospital, though. Now Mom is there alone, and if something were to happen... if she were to wake up and... Riley could have just _called_ to see if I was okay. I'm not the one that's in the hospital.

Xander says something to Riley about something they were supposed to do this morning, but I'm not paying much attention.

"I'm going back to the hospital," I say, interrupting whatever argument   was about to be brewing. "I want to be there with my mom when she wakes up and they tell her."

"Do you need a ride?" Riley asks.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I just... I need to walk. I'll see you later, okay?"

He looks sad, but I can't deal with that right now. "Take a jacket," he says, finally. "It's getting cold out."

***

I sit with Mom while the doctor explains things to her. She's confused at first, from the medicine, but I can tell when it sinks in. The look in her eyes is heartbreaking, but then I watch her put her Mom face back on. She's so strong sometimes, I envy her. She's strong in ways I'll never be.

After the doctor leaves, Mom and I talk for awhile. She's worried about her hair, where they shaved it for the biopsy. I tell her it'll look fine. We can get wigs. We try to joke about it, try to laugh, because then it doesn't seem as real or as scary. I can tell that my being there helps her, keeps her from being depressed or giving into the worry.

Riley comes by again, which is nice, but I really just want to spend time with my Mom. He tells me to go ahead and cry, but I can't do that right now. Not when mom is watching. I send him home and promise to call him tomorrow. Right now...

I have to be strong. It's what I do best, right?

***

I patrol later, after Mom falls back asleep, taking out my frustration on the two or three vamps who decide tonight would be a good night to rise. When I go home, the house is empty, the lights off. I sense Spike somewhere nearby but I'm not in the mood to deal with him tonight.

Instead I go up and go straight to bed.

When Mr. Gordo arrives, it's the same as the night before.

I don't know why I talk to him, except that I know he won't talk back. He won't tell me everything is going to be okay. He won't make it worse by telling me no, I can't do something. I can't see, so I don't have to see pity in his eyes. He won't make me feel useless.

It's easy to ignore that he's a vampire, at times like this. Even when I start to cry and he tentatively puts one arm around me, letting me sob on his t-shirt in the dark.

It's only a dream. It makes a strange sort of sense, somehow, that in a dream a vampire should be the one to give me what I need.

 


End file.
